


Sacred Heart

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: The great boogey man of the Commonwealth is dead.  As the Commonwealth struggles to settle back into normalcy, Danse tries and figures out what to do next in the wake of his identity crises.  Luckily, someone nearby is around to help him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

There was a deafening boom; so loud that Curie didn’t realize it was happening until a small delay, and a reverberation that seemed like it could turn the Castle into a pile of rubble.  A few minutemen were knocked off their feet, and Curie stumbled briefly. By the time she had steadied herself, it appeared as if the raucous explosion had ceased to happen in the first place.  Curie looked around; throngs of people murmured excitedly, wondering what had possibly caused such a strange thing to happen – the battle that had taken place at the Castle a mere few hours ago had ended, with not so much as a rock being kicked up.  Even in the wake up what was unmistakably the sound of something being blown apart, not a speck of dust hung suspended in the air, the Castle still stood in all its glory, no worse for wear, and the sky was still a brilliant blue; not a cloud in sight - certainly no sign of hellfire raining down.

“Good God!”

Curie looked up to where Preston Garvey stood atop the massive fortress, mouth gaping open, shocked, at something in the distance, past the safety of the thick Castle walls.

“Garvey, what is it?”

A minuteman Curie recognized, but could not name, disappeared in one of the entrances leading into the Castle, reappearing a few moments later at the top, next to Preston.  Instantaneously, his face mirrored the mask of awe on Preston’s.

“For Chrissake, you’re going to catch flies. Shut yer yaps, and tell us if the sky’s fallin’ or not.”  Longfellow grumbled, holstering his gun.

“What is it?” Someone else called from behind Curie.

“Tell us already!”

The unrest that stirred amongst the crowds was enough to tear Preston away from – whatever it was that had ensnared him atop the fortress.

“I…I can’t confirm it, but…” He hesitated, lowering his voice “I mean it can’t be – but, perhaps I should wait until Nora comes back to confirm…” he was addressing the people once again.  

Stammering, unable to console the people – his people, was unlike him.  Curie grew concerned, this thing, whatever it was, was massive if it swayed Preston.

“Spit it out!”  Fear had started to settle into the crowds like gasoline on fire; they were starting to get testy.

“I-I think the Institute is…gone.”

All background chatter stopped, and even the Earth itself seemed to know better than to let the winds stir the leaves and dust at such a crucial moment.

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“How can you tell?”

“I think that explosion…I think that was the Institute…”

Preston’s voice seemed to dwindle at the end, unable to support the weight of a truth that felt near unspeakable.

Almost on cue, Nora was back in a flash of bright light; dark hair tousled, a few flyaways singed.  One moment there was nothing, the next there she stood.  Soot was smeared on her face, which was red and slightly swollen.  A few small cuts littered her face, neck, and what Curie could see of her arms – one sleeve having been forcefully taken off – from what, she couldn’t quite tell.  The frayed, black marks at the end lead her to believe Preston’s theory though.

“Oh my God – it’s true!”

“Look at her, she’s all burnt up!”

Unrest broke out amongst the masses again, louder than before, some celebratory, some still fearful of what the ripples of such massive change would produce. Snapping out of her own despairing trance, Curie rushed forward to Nora, trying to look for any immediate signs of trauma – Nora met her gaze right away – eyes responsive, that was good.  Curie gently maneuvered around the woman, tilting her head gently to check for any obvious injuries hiding under her hair, or tattered gear.  Nora never flinched once – no obvious pain, that was good too.  

“S’fine.” Nora murmured.

_Able to form comprehensible responses and communicate more or less.  Another good sign._

She would do a more holistic exam later, when the crowds had dispersed, and everyone was ready to put the day behind them, but until then, Curie felt okay letting Nora be, with no signs of immediate trauma. Physical trauma anyways.  When Curie looked at her, really looked, she seemed quiet, solemn even.  She wondered what had gone down, and how it had ended up the way it did – but she didn’t feel like it was her place to ask, and it wasn’t necessary she know anyways.

Curie stepped back as Preston stepped forward, leaning in to murmur something in her ear.  She watched as Nora nodded before giving her lieutenant’s shoulder a squeeze, and turning to greet a cagey Hancock, almost melting into his arms as the ghoul crushed her into him, burying his face into her hair.  It was the closest Curie had ever seen him to crying.   Around them a mix of minutemen and settlers watched, seemingly unblinking as they saw this strange bunch of apparently random people, as they grieved, celebrated, and licked their wounds.

“Alright, alright – whatever happened, we can assume the immediate threat is over,” Preston had regained the confidence in his voice, and despite the barrage of questions Curie could almost feel building up amongst the huddled flocks of people, no one had any reason to protest with that sort of assuring charisma.

“As such, we should all head back home, and try to put this day behind us.  Today marks the end of an era built on fear, and we’d do well to leave it where it belongs – in the past.  We’ll have more answers for you tomorrow, on Radio Freedom, but for now, know you’re safe.”

Hushed murmurs rippled around, but slowly, the sea of people dispersed, until only the ‘alleged’ inner circle remained; Preston, Cait, Danse, Deacon, Hancock, Nora, MacCready, Piper, Nick, and Curie herself.

“So, this is how it ends,” Preston began, “I never thought I’d see it.”

“Some say the earth will end in fire, some say in ice,” Nick muttered under his breath.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I was going to hold up here – now that the minutemen are back up and running, I think it would be best if I were here to oversee the day to day operations.”

“Well, I’ll be damned, you managed to pull it off after all, good on you Garvey.”  Hancock grinned his lopsided grin.  

“It was thanks to the General that it was possible,” Preston stepped forward to shake hands warmly with Nora, who smiled back.

“It was an honor to serve Preston, you’ll do the Commonwealth proud here.”

He chuckled, “And I suppose your heading back to Goodneighbor then?”

Hancock tenderly looped his arm around Nora’s waist, pulling her close.

“That we are – we’ve been away from home for too long, but if you guys ever want to visit, know you’ll always be welcome.”

“Say, isn’t anyone welcome in Goodneighbor?”  Nick teased.

“Yeah Nicky, you got that right, even you stuffy Diamond City folk.”  Hancock nodded to the detective and Piper, who was at his side.

“How about you Deacon, where you headed?”

Deacon shook his head exasperatedly, “Well, I suppose there’s no use in hiding it anymore – I’ll be heading back to the Railroad, duty calls and all that.”

“Nora, ye mind if I tag along?  Goodneighbor’s the only place to get a decent drink in this shitehole.”

“Not at all, c’mon Cait.”

Hancock turned to MacCready, “How about you, you tagging along too?”

“Nah,” MacCready holstered his gun, “It’s time for me to go home to Duncan.”  

MacCready turned to face Curie.

“Where will you go now that all this madness is over?”

“Ah, well…I don’t know…I certainly don’t want to go back to the vault…”

But Goodneighbor and Diamond City didn’t exactly feel right either.

“You could always head back to Sanctuary,” Preston suggested.  It was the largest settlement, save for cities like Diamond City and Goodneighbor.

“You too Danse,”

Danse seemed uncomfortable under the weight of everyone’s pitying gazes.

“I mean, just, if you weren’t sure where to head off to next.”  _…because you can’t go back to the Brotherhood._

Tension seemed to crackle like static electricity at the uncomfortable truth everyone seemed to be narrowly stepping around.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.”  His voice was quiet – firm as always, but somehow weaker, hollow Curie dared say.

It was well into the night when the small group dispersed, exchanging regards and good wishes; sentimentality wearing off as the fatigue set in.  Before they knew it, Curie and Danse were on the road back to Sanctuary.  The trip back was quiet, with only a few words exchanged in warning when one neared some sort of potential danger, before settling back into an uneventful lull.

By the time they had finally arrived back at the settlement, the sun had begun its ascent in the sky once again, as Curie seemed to face plant into the nearest bed, too tired to be self-conscious about the fact that Danse had passed out on the bed in the room next door.   _Tomorrow, I’ll check up on him tomorrow,_ were her last thoughts before sleep overtook her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curie and Danse struggle to find a place for themselves in this strange, new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

In the days that followed, Curie and Danse struggled along with the rest of the Commonwealth, as they tried to get used to this strange new routine; the boogey man was dead, and it was time to move on with their lives, but this was easier said than done.  Used to traveling around, Curie found herself feeling restless in the lull of a provincial life.  She tried to combat this by keeping herself busy, so she started Sanctuary’s clinic; probably one of the few open to all of Commonwealth, and with a doctor who had extensive medical knowledge.   She noticed Danse struggling with this too; now without Nora to accompany, or the Brotherhood to report to.  Unlike her though, he hadn’t had a normal job prior to taking up with Nora; Curie had always worked in science, even before she had obtained her new body – there was never a doubt in her mind as to what she was, a scientist.  Danse on the other hand, had always been a Brother, and now that he couldn’t be that, he had no clue who he was.

Gently, Curie had tried to encourage him to do something that both contributed to Sanctuary, while working to his strengths.

“I don’t know what I’m good at.” He had said, his voice flat, as if it didn’t even have a timbre of its own.

The emptiness in his gaze had chilled Curie; before his banishment from the Brotherhood, he had been straight-laced – but still more lively than this Danse; enthusiastic about structure, and rules, and believing in the goodness of the Brotherhood with every fiber in his being.  Take that away, and you took Danse away, leaving the empty shell Curie was currently living with.

Curie had to think for a moment – she hadn’t known much about Danse.  Before, she had only known he was part of the Brotherhood of Steel, and then, she had kept her distance, familiar with their view of synths.  Now, she wasn’t sure anybody knew Danse, not even himself. She had seen him constantly with that power armor of his though; jumping from tall precipices, modifying it, repairing it – and it had seemed to serve him well so far.  The Brotherhood did have a reputation with technology as well…

“How about a weapons shop?”

“I should become a clerk?”

“Well, you seem to know a lot about them, so I was thinking more along the lines of fixing and building weapons and armor.  And what about power armor?”

“What about power armor?”

Curie struggled to keep her voice light, “You just seem to be good with it, so maybe you could put those skills to use, no?”

“That’s because the Brotherhood of Steel used it.”

“Yes, but you still have yours, hm?”  Curie’s palms began to sweat – that was one thing she hadn’t taken to in her new human body, the way that her feelings were just out,  _everywhere, all the time_.

Danse was quiet, and Curie balked, not sure how much further she could or should press.  The next day, however, she was happily surprised to see Danse underneath the outdoor overhang on the side of the house they had started sharing, a tool box sitting next to him, and some miscellaneous scraps of metal fanned out around him, like an explosion frozen in time.

“Ah! Danse, it is so good to see you! What are you working on?”  

“I’m trying to see what parts I could find laying around, and what I might need to get.”

He didn’t even spare her a glance, and his voice was still flat, but this sure beat sitting alone in a dark room all day.

Curie clasped her hands together in elation, “Good for you!  Do you need help?  I do not know much about putting things back together but-“

“I don’t need help.”

Curie hesitated, trying to brush off his dismissive tone.  He had always been cold to her after all, so this was normal for him, and that had been the goal, right?  Normalcy?

“Ah, okay! If you do, you know where to find me though, yes?”

Danse didn’t answer, just continued rummaging through the toolbox.  Curie swallowed back the shame that welled in her throat, retreating to the clinic. She should be doing inventory of her own after all.

By the time the sun had started to set, she had managed to clean up the central part of the space to the point where it resembled an actual, functional infirmary.  Midway through the afternoon, she had found herself to be low on Stimpaks and Med X, but that was too be expected given the bloodshed of the past few days and would be easy enough to restock.

As evening set in, she returned home, only to find Danse sitting at the quaint little table, that came with the house.

“Ah,  _bonsoir_ ,  _Monsieur_ Danse!”  Curie smiled, determined not to let the frosty exchange from earlier impact what semi-cohabitable relationship they had.

No response, just sipping whiskey from the bottle, and reading an issue of  _Guns and Bullets_.

“I got the clinic up to functional standards today, so I think it was a good day!” Curie chirped brightly, trying to act natural.  

She tried to make herself busy; restacking the pile of magazines on the counter and rearranging the alignment of miscellaneous cups and plates they apparently now owned.  

“No one came to see me – which I think is good too, I mean, that means nobody  _had_ to come to the clinic, yes?  I did find that I’m a little-“

“Enough already.”

Curie tried her hardest not to miss a beat.

“Ah – I beg your pardon?”

“You beg  _my_  pardon?  Tell me - why should I apologize to you?  A synth?” He spat.  

“You’re not even  _human_ , your feelings aren’t even  _real_.”

Curie’s bottom lip trembled, and she felt pressure build up in her head.  Almost as if to prove him wrong, hot tears sprung from her eyes.

“I didn’t mean-“

“Yeah, you didn’t mean shit.  You mean  _nothing_ , you’re a synth.  A hunk of metal a couple of eggheads decided to let play dress up.  An abomination.”

A few moments passed, and Danse didn’t say a thing more – just kept his gaze fixated on the whiskey bottle, eyebrows furrowed, focusing all his rage on that one spot.  Curie half thought it would shatter under his scrutiny.  She stayed quiet too – not trusting her voice right then, trying to compose herself.  Minutes passed, and she took a deep breath.  For the first time since she awoke in this strange new body, anger burned in the pit of her stomach and she hated it.  Hated the cruel things Danse had said to her, and hated how they got to her, because she knew they could only do so if there was even the tiniest seed of truth buried in his venom.  And she hated that too.  Swallowing her own bitter poison, she mustered whatever peace she could find within herself.

“You’re a synth too though.”

Her voice was quiet, but unwavering – she considered it a victory seeing as it didn’t shake.

Danse took a long sip from the bottle, and Curie could’ve sworn, from a certain angle, under the shabby lighting of their shabby kitchen, she could see his own eyes glimmer wetly.

“Yeah, “his shoulders slumped, defeated.  “I’m an abomination too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curie and Danse find comfort in one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Over the next few days, Curie had ceased any and all attempts to converse with Danse.  She hadn’t stayed angry, but it was quite obvious that he was unable to talk to her without coming to terms with his identity, and in order to do that, he had to heal the wounds the Brotherhood had inflicted on him.  Curie was new to matters of the heart, and she was unfamiliar with the crises Danse was facing – but what she did know was healing. The way she saw it, it was like he was poisoned, or rather, that the Brotherhood poisoned him with their anti-synth propaganda, and he was in pain, and immobilized by the toxins.  What he needed was someone to suck the poison out for him, and despite how he pushed her away, she felt it was her job to be that person.

She felt, the most important thing for him at this point, when his world had been rocked as violently as his had been, was routine. The very next day, she shook off any hurt that had clung to her through the night, and got to work.  From that day on, she was up every day at the crack of dawn, to ensure that she was up before Danse.  She would make breakfast, and brew coffee, setting a plate out for him, before taking her own back to the clinic to get caught up with any bookkeeping, before it officially opened for the day.  She would spend from dawn until late into the inky night at the clinic, careful to make herself scarce in her residence so long as Danse was awake. She feared that any lingering would prompt him to move out, which would make her job a lot more difficult.  Not to mention, Sanctuary was low on unoccupied houses, and the thought of a Danse in emotional crises, heading out alone into the Commonwealth seemed…darkly ominous.  And so, Curie became the invisible force working behind the scenes trying to ease Danse through his turbulent transitional phase.

The first few nights, she had come home only to see the plate she had left out in the morning had been untouched all day. While Danse’s brooding rage refused to let up though, Curie’s helpfulness did the same.  Relentless, she had kept to her strict pattern; up at dawn, breakfast for two, clinic, sleep.  Rinse. Repeat.  About a week and a half in, Curie returned home, worn out, but not any less dedicated to the cause than day one.  She crept back into the dark house, a ray of moonlight shone in through the patchy walls, illuminating the empty plate on the table.  Curie’s heart leapt in her chest – the coffee was drained from the mug, and the plate was empty save for a few remnants.  

Curie grinned broadly at the evidence of her progress – but she still had a mountain left to conquer.  The next day, she rose at the same time, made the same breakfast, and spent the same long hours in the clinic.  When she got home, it was the same story – get excited over an empty plate, and off to bed.  She let this continue for three weeks, before she started to come down from the high of her initial step forward.  She herself had started to get comfortable in this routine. That meant it was time to take another step.

The next day, she rose at dawn, made breakfast for two, and at dusk, began to make her way home, wondering what would be waiting for her when she got there.  The lights were still on, but Danse was cooped up in his room, the plate and mug empty as always.  She cleaned the dishes and set them on the counter for tomorrow’s use before going to head to her own room for the evening.  She resisted the urge to talk to Danse.

_Don’t ruin your progress so far.  You can’t scare him off._

She sat down on her bed, picking up the book she had set on her nightstand a few days prior, and tried to unwind, hyperaware that Danse was present and awake just across the hallway.  Danse made no attempts to talk to her, and neither did she – fully dedicated to the cause.  After a few days of returning home at dusk though, and settling into another evening of silently coexisting, she came home to the dishes already cleaned and on the counter for her.  It was especially difficult for her to ignore Danse that night; this being the first reciprocated contact since their heated exchange almost a month and a half prior.  The silence was wearing her down, and she ached to confide in someone about her day.  Missed when Sanctuary was bustling with Nora, and her funny pre-war stories. Nora and her inexplicable ability to unite a ragtag group of strangers for a common cause.  They hadn’t all become bestfriends, but Curie had been confident she could trust any one of them with her life.  She missed being able to group Danse in that category, for his hatred of the nonhuman people of Commonwealth had taken a backseat to the defeat of the Institute.  Now, it seemed like it was all consuming.  But this, this clean plate, it meant everything, or rather, the potential for anything.  It symbolized healing.  It was the first ingredient to the antidote.

The night after she came home to the first of the clean plates, she was startled to see that Danse was hanging out in the main room of the house this time.  She tried to keep a straight face as she wordlessly made her way back to her own room.  She was already half way down the hallway when she heard it, so soft, that she wasn’t even completely sure she heard it until she risked a glance back, only to see Danse’s steady gaze trained on her.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

Her mouth quirked up into a small smile, “Sure thing.”

From that evening on, he would be awaiting her return home from the long days at the clinic, greeting her with a quiet “Good evening,” at first, which she would return, fighting off the urge to launch into a full-fledged conversation with him.  But as the days passed by, growing shorter with the impending winter that was headed towards the Commonwealth, their conversations gradually became longer. He would ask her about her day, and she would give him small pieces at first, testing, still worried about scaring him off.

“The neighbor kid came in with a scraped knee.” She would say,

Or, “It was quite uneventful, which is good I suppose.  How was your day?”

He would respond in like, sometimes with a “I repaired a rifle so-and-so jammed while cleaning it.” Or something similar, and as the conversations came more easily, and grew more lively, their tenuous tolerance of each seemed to morph into a budding friendship.

The nights grew longer and colder, as the inside of the house grew warmer and more vivacious.  Curie would sit on the couch Danse had accumulated from another settler’s junk pile, perched at the end as he’d scrounge up a couple of beers for them, ready to begin their nightly vent session.

“-and then, I had to wait…. for it to…well, you know… _pass_.” Curie winced, reddening slightly.

Danse chuckled, the beer having taken the edge off enough for him to exhibit something so rare for him, especially these days.

“No – how long did that take?  Can’t that cause more damage?”

“I mean, it was just a marble, so luckily, the chances of it causing severe internal damage was small.  And - it took the normal time it takes for anything else to pass! But digging through his…to find it to make sure it had passed was…” Curie shuddered.  

Danse chuckled again, rubbing a hand over his face, “Christ, who swallows a marble anyways?”

Curie laughed, taking a sip of her voice.  “Now  _that_ , is a good question.”

A few moments of quiet passed, uncertain, but not nearly as tense as the stretches of silence that had domineered the earlier days of them living together.

“You know,” Danse started, gazing at the fire he had built where the house’s fire place used to be.  “You seem…human.”

Curie nodded, trying to mask her nervousness.  “I  _feel_  human.” She admitted.

Danse shook his head slightly, “I - , well, I don’t suppose I’d be the expert so, nevermind.”

Curie made a face, “You seem human too,” she offered, not wanting to break the hesitant truce they had.

“I feel human” he said quietly, “These feelings; being so angry I could kill, feeling so lost I could die, they all seem so real, so human.”

Curie paused, thoughtful.

“Of course, they’re real.  You’re feeling them, they’re a natural response to the…trauma you’ve experienced, why on Earth wouldn’t they be real?”

He looked at her, devoid of any animosity now, just honest “Because I’m a synth.”

Curie nodded again, sipping her beer, “Well, I suppose your definition of real may vary from mine, but I believe my feelings are real.  Real as yours, real as Nora’s, or any other  _person_  in the Commonwealth.”

“But…it’s all fake.  All implanted by those…eggheads, not the flesh, and blood, and tissue that the humans in Commonwealth have.”

Curie shrugged, “It may not be flesh and blood, but the processes those…eggheads, as you call them, implemented, have managed to emulate the flesh and blood process to the synapse so that the outcome is the same. The means, different, I will give you, but the outcome? Not real?  I do not believe that for a second,” Curie hesitated, “And I don’t think you should either.”

Danse took a silent sip of his own drink, peering into the bottle midway.

“I’m going to grab another; did you want one?”

Curie visibly relaxed at the change in subject, the truce seemingly still in effect, “Yes please.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Curie grow closer, as Winter falls upon the Commonwealth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

As winter settled in on the Commonwealth, Curie and Danse had settled into a comfortable routine, they’d wake up at dawn, and have breakfast together, before heading to the clinic and workshop respectively, for work.  They’d both come back home at dusk to have dinner together, before sharing drinks and talking late into the night.  What had started as a little unwinding after work, had stretched into their favorite part of the day.  

With each day, Danse seemed to get less angry – sometimes, Curie could even see him smile.  Usually this was when he was at work, left at peace with some spare parts, and his own capable hands.  It seemed fixing things had given him a purpose, and purpose, an identity.  

Things had been going perfectly well, in their new cozy little pattern, until one morning Curie woke up and headed to the kitchen to find it devoid of Danse with the usual two mugs of coffee.

“Danse?”  she had called out, the first break in their groove since it had started, off-putting.

Moments of silence, then, hacking.

“Curie?”  Someone rasped.

Curie ran to Danse’s room, not recognizing his voice in its weakened state, but knowing it was him all the same.

“Danse?”

The large man looked like a ragdoll, resigned to bed, pale, shaky, and layered in a thin film of sweat.  A large bout of coughing wracked his body.

“I-I think I’m sick.”

Curie placed her hands on her hips, tsking.

“Yes, well I  _know_  you’re sick.”

She walked over to his bedside, stooping down to place a hand against his clammy forehead.  

“Ah, yes, a fever.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “I feel like crap.”

Curie drew the blankets up over him, pushing the damp hair from his forehead before disappearing from the room, and reappearing a few moments later with purified water, supporting his head so that she could fountain some into his mouth.

“Drink some, Danse.”

Obediently, he did.

Curie set the water at his bedside, before leaving again, this time not coming back until almost an hour later with a warm bowl of hot squirrel soup, a stimpak, and a wet rag.  She set the tray down, grabbing the wet rag, and dabbed at the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, before spreading the rag out across his forehead, in hope of getting his fever to break.

Next, she gently reached underneath the blanket for his arm, trying to find a good vein, grateful that she had gotten him water earlier when she readily found one.  Grabbing the stimpak, she injected it, careful to keep his arm braced flat against the bed.

Danse moaned slightly, but he did not stir.  

Satisfied, she left the bowl of soup for when he awoke, knowing it should be within the hour, given the stimpak.  Sighing, she began to get up from her kneeling position at Danse’s side, late in opening the clinic.  A gentle tug at her hand stopped her.

Turning, she was met with Dane’s gaze, bleary and tired.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

Curie smiled, “Of course.  You just focus on getting better.”

Gently, she untangled her hand from his own, before setting it neatly back on the bed, and heading towards the clinic.  Relieved that nobody had seemed to need the clinic in the hour she had spent taking care of Danse, she decided to busy herself with some light bookkeeping.  In the past month she had seen two gunshot wounds (one had been self-inflicted by a man cleaning his gun), a broken arm, a couple of cases of the flu, and one unfortunate incident involving a marble and ending with Curie digging through an eight-year-old boy’s poop.  She had smiled as she documented that one; Danse would never let her live that one down, and she hadn’t even been the one to ingest the marble.

Once that was done, she straightened up around the clinic.  Everything was going swimmingly; the floor was more or less clean, or at least as clean as the floor could get in Sanctuary.  All her medical records sat neatly in the filing cabinet she had managed to scavenge, her first week there.  Now she was finishing up neatly rearranging the medical supplies on the shelf, missing only the top shelf, which she saved for last because of the difficult reach.  

Grumbling slightly, she dragged the stool by her makeshift desk in front of the cabinet, before carefully clambering atop it.  She stretched her arms out in an airplane pose, trying to balance herself.  She felt herself sway and planted her feet in an attempt to regain balance. Concentrating, she let herself rise completely, easily able to see the top shelf now; where she kept the blood packs, safely above where miscellaneous critters that got in, could reach.  It could have been a draft, or her own unpracticed coordination, but in the next moment Curie felt herself tilt sharply.  

She squeaked, and almost on cue, a strong grip clasped around her waist, supporting her in her precarious stance.

“You ought to be more careful.”

“Ah! Danse, you are feeling better, no?”

He offered his hand, which she happily accepted, as he helped her down from the stool.

“I am; the stimpak and soup worked wonders.”

“I’m glad!” she beamed up at him, “I was worried – I’ve never seen you sick before.”

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t get sick very often.”

“Yeah, I noticed! In the year we all spent together, I had never seen you ill, not once!”

Curie made a face, and Danse couldn’t help but notice that she was pretty.  Quite pretty, in spite of the goofy expression she donned.

The remainder of that day’s sun seemed to lilt through the sporadic holes in the clinic’s main structure, painting everything inside shades of gold.  Curie’s blue eyes glittered, looking holy, the dying rays casting an ambrosia halo on her short hair.  The golden hue was most appropriate; every bit as warm and magnificent as Curie herself was, Danse thought.  People flocked to the light, lived their lives under the guidance of such a light, basked in the glow of it.  Danse had been feverish only a few hours before, and yet, he could clearly recall the nurturing warmth of her hand smoothing across his forehead.  When the Brotherhood had cast him out, he had felt so empty, and dark, but Curie had seemed like the light that had driven that darkness away.  He too, wanted to bask in her glow.  

Her voice penetrated through the fog of his daydreams.

“Huh?”

“I said, I’m glad I’ll still have my drinking buddy tonight,” Curie was smiling ruefully.

“ _Mon dieu_ , are you sure you’re feeling okay after all, Danse?”

Danse shook off the remnants of his idyllic day dream that seemed to cling to him; such things were unproductive and distracting. He hadn’t indulged any since he was barely a man, trying to scrap together enough to run off and join the Brotherhood.  He shooed away more idle thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m feeling fine.  Let’s head home?”

“Let’s!”  she gently slid her arm through his, leading him back home, a small skip in her step.

The lackadaisical atmosphere seemed infectious, and letting himself enjoy the warmth of Curie’s grip on him, he reconciled that he’d rather be unproductive in other ways.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor from Danse's past comes back to haunt him, in Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty.

In the weeks that followed, Danse found himself increasingly preoccupied with thoughts of Curie.  Her happiness was infectious, and her compassionate nature seemed to permeate into every aspect of Danse’s life, he lived with her, he worked with her, he played with her; he dreamed of her.  She was pervasive, not a single hour going by, without some semblance of her clinging to his thoughts.

When his world had fallen apart, when the very earth beneath his feet seemed to fall away, she had been the one to help him find solid ground once again – she had given him order, a sense of purpose; she became the very axis his world seemed to rotate on.  It was sureness he hadn’t felt about his world since being a part of the Brotherhood.  

He would watch the sunsets and think how dim it had appeared compared to the warmth he felt sitting and talking with Curie late into the night.  If he dared to think about a world without her, he felt panic bubble up inside of him. Being with Curie – even if it wasn’t exactly in the way he found himself fantasizing about – was easy.  As easy as cutting through butter with a warm knife, as easy as jumping from a precipice a hundred meters tall in power armor; as easy as breathing.  So he thought he could manage it; the secret feelings, and the pining; he thought that as long as Curie was there, he could do it, because it was so easy being with her; that this state of constant wanting, was just more proof that his heart was beating and capable of such yearning.  He thought such an easy thing could stay that way.

The winter was fading into a dewy spring when he found that this was not so.  It had been an unusually warm morning; Curie had been tending to the modest garden she started outside their house, and Danse had been just a few feet away in the outside overhang, tinkering with some sort of gun Curie couldn’t place. It had been then that they heard a yell in the distance.

“Help! She’s hurt!  I found her – she’s bleeding, it won’t stop!”

Danse looked up, alarmed, abruptly heading to the door to try and see the source of such distress, only to see Curie already racing towards the sound of panic.  From a distance, he could see Curie crouched over a mass, a frantic settler waving their arms, and blubbering hysterically.

“I was on m-my way to D-Diamond City when-“ they sobbed as Curie gently shushed them.

“Please, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain, I promise you I’ll do my best to take care of this young woman.”

Her words were gentle, but her eyes were fierce.

Someone else came to lightly usher the distraught settler away, as Curie got to work.  He watched her as she moved, methodical and efficient; like a well-oiled machine.  She raised her pointer finger, as she dug a small, flashlight from the front pocket of the flannel shirt she was wearing, waving them both briefly in front of the mass, a purposeful motion he did not quite understand– a reflex exam?  Checking vitals?  Danse didn’t know enough about medicine to decipher the vague motions from so far away.  

“Someone, I need help moving her!”  Curie yelled, and Danse took off.

Another able-bodied bystander came to Curie’s aid, standing ready over the slumped body on the ground.  Curie’s eyebrows were furrowed, her gaze intense on her patient’s face as she worked to discern as much as she could, before they moved her and the real work began.

Danse reached the scene, and his whole world seemed to shift.  His breath caught in his throat, as the air left his lungs.

Curie’s gaze shifted to him, saw his blanched complexion, and the sheen of sweat that clung to him.

“Danse, are you alright?”  her voice was soft, but it couldn’t protect him from the raw edges as old wounds were ripped open.

He set his jaw, his stare fixated on the unconscious form’s familiar face.

“I know the patient,” his voice was dead calm – just as it had been in the days following his banishment from the brotherhood.  His face had hardened, his voice like steel.

“Who is she?”  Curie couldn’t decipher the strange feeling that had suddenly overtaken her; she would later be able to identify it as dread.

“Her name is Haylen – Scribe Haylen, she was -  _is_  in the Brotherhood.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haylen and Danse clash, shaking Danse's worldview once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Curie fought the shocked look that threatened her features, all the while dread filled her.  Danse had  _just_ gotten better.    He had just started breathing again; and now here was another load, sent to knock the wind out of him again.  Curie was struck by a whirlwind of emotions; as she ferverently tried to work out as much as she could about Haylen’s injuries in the time it took for them to get her back to the clinic, where she could really get to work. She mentally slapped herself every time she found her gaze wandering to Danse, who’s face was impassive as usual.

_Snap out of it! You have a patient!_

Curie was disgusted with her derailed drain of thought – Danse  _was_  better, and now she had to ensure that Haylen had the opportunity to be as well.

Curie ran ahead, haphazardly clearing the island in the middle of the main room.  It was the largest surface she had; the only place she could spread Haylen out, and properly assess her injuries.

“You can put her there,”

Curie rushed around, grabbing whatever she could get her hands on; stimpaks, Med-X, and a surgical tray with a scalpel, complete with some bandage scissors.  Danse was carefully laying the woman onto the counter.  Curie watched for a lingering gaze, or touch, and mentally smacked herself again, slightly ashamed that it wasn’t just her concern for Danse that had kept her watching the scribe.  

“Do you need any more help?”  

Curie nearly jumped out of her skin, meeting his gaze; worried that the old Danse would come out; memories of cold, dark nights in their now lively home swirled in her mind.  The gaze trained on her now, warm and attentive, had been steely and dangerous, glinting like a sharpened knife only a few months before.

“No, that’s alright, but thank you.” Curie smiled at him reassuringly.

“I’ll take it from here did you – ah, want me to update you?”

Danse hesitated, his cheeks moving inward; Curie bet he was worrying at the inside of his cheek, it was an endearing little tic of his she had noticed, when he was grappling with an unusually arduous train of thought.

“Sure,”  

Curie’s heart sank.

“That would be nice.  Thank you, Curie.”

Danse shot her a small smile before ducking out of the door.  He didn’t look back at his former sister, sprawled on the table.  Curie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.  Turning around to face the girl, she got to work.

A stimpak, and a few hours later, Curie sat at the nearby desk, finishing up Haylen’s chart – she was stable, and her vitals were good; despite the initial scare, Curie was sure she’d make a full, an easy recovery with bedrest and fluids.  Charting had seemed like a viable way to put off finding Danse.  She wondered if he’d changed at all in the past few hours since she had seen him.  She clicked the pen in her hands frantically, the only physical indication of the agitation she was marinating in.

A stirring noise behind her pulled her from her thoughts.  Curie whipped around, reaching for her stethoscope, and rushing to the scribe’s side as her eyes fluttered open.

“Where…am I?”’

The shock of being in an unfamiliar place seemed to jolt her awake.  Alertness flooded her eyes, and in a flailing of limbs, she rushed to prop herself up, wincing as she succumbed to the sharp pangs that peppered her abdomen.

“Ssh, slowly now.”  Curie soothed, approaching slowly, and deliberately, trying not to further distress Haylen.  Curie offered a hand, keeping it firm as Haylen cautiously accepted it, using it to gingerly maneuver herself upright.

Curie carefully pressed the ear buds of her stethoscope into her ears, and raised the end to press it to the woman’s back, pausing first, to make sure that she wasn’t going to fight it.

“Can you take a deep breath for me please?”

Curie focused on the stream of air as Haylen focused a long exhale out, at least calm enough to be cooperative.

“What happened?  Where am I?” she asked again.

Curie tucked the stethoscope away.

“You were found collapsed outside in the Commonwealth, so someone from out settlement brought you back to help you – you’re in Sanctuary Hills.”

Haylen looked relieved.

“Right, the newer of the larger settlements.” She took a quick look around the quaint clinic

“More modest than Diamond City,”

Curie made a face; she knew humans had more…instantaneous reactions to things than synths tended to, but some of them were more skilled at controlling them than others.

“But promising – not at all like Goodneighbor!” she added hastily, noticing Curie’s expression – it seemed like she was becoming more human each day.

Curie smiled politely, before trying to busy herself through the awkward moments that trailed after – putting stuff away, reorganizing the perfectly stacked bandages on a nearby shelf.

“You know what’s weird?”

Haylen spoke finally, her forced small talk punctuating the clumsy silence that had fallen between them.

“What’s that?”

“When I was…fainted, or unconscious, or whatever - I thought I saw an old friend, or like, someone from my past that-“

Curie’s eyes flicked to the doorway the moment Danse appeared in it.

“How is-“

Haylen whipped around at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide.  Danse staggered back a few steps under the force of her shock, as if she would jump off the counter and attack him.  Well, she  _was_  still with the Brotherhood.

“Oh, uh – I’m sorry.”

Struggled to correct her expression, collecting herself.

“It’s alright.”

The three of them stood there in silence for a few moments.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up.”  Curie pushed off from her leaning position against the wall, looking at Haylen.

“If you feel any chest pains, find me immediately.”

Curie ducked past Danse on the way out.

“I’ll see you at home.”

She disappeared before he could confirm, his gaze tailing her back to their shared house.

“So, how have you been?”

Danse looked back at Haylen.

“I-didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

As soon as the silence was broken it seemed to tirelessly build back up.

“You look well.”

She tried again.

His eyes fell across her bed ridden state.

“You’ve looked better.”

She gave a forced laugh, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

More silence.

“I’m not going to shoot you, you know?” her mouth quirked into a tentative smile.

“You’re not?  Isn’t that disobeying orders?”

Haylen sighed.

“C’mon Danse, you know it wasn’t personal.  But being a synth?”

“Yeah, you’re right, how  _unforgiveable_  of me.” He spat, his words coated in a venom he hadn’t realized he still had.

“You were  _lurking_  in our ranks for  _years_  – and we had no idea! The Institute could have programmed bugging software into you, or something.  It goes against everything we believe in!  How can we trust you again after that?”

Danse scoffed, “Well, it’s not like I trust you, so…”

“Danse, please.”  Haylen’s eyes were somber – but not sorry.  “It’s not you it’s just…”

“What I am?”

Haylen didn’t answer.

“Does the Brotherhood even realize what they’re fighting against anymore?  Has it ever occurred to guys that maybe synths aren’t the enemy, but the Institute is? And it’s run by humans!”

Danse gestured roughly, moving his hands sharply downward as if the reason he so desperately wanted her to see were sitting on the floor right in front of her.

“That woman who helped you – who  _saved_  your life, was a synth you know.  She gave you the rest of yours back when the rest of the Brotherhood would sooner take hers away.”

“She was really nice.” Haylen said quietly. “I have nothing against her – you’re right, she saved my life. And…”

Haylen shifted her gaze to look at Danse, pleading.

“I have nothing against you either, I liked you – believe me, I would’ve given my life for yours at the drop of a hat, believe  _that_.”

“So what is it then?”

“You two are good…people.  I don’t doubt that – most in the Brotherhood wouldn’t either, but if she wanted to marry a brother, yeah, then I might have an issue. She’s not evil, but if she considers herself equal to  _humans_ , to the beautiful, complex,  _live_ beings we are; then yeah, I have a problem with that too.”

Danse physically ached, each word a blow to his battered self-assuredness.

“The setup you guys have here – it’s a real pretty picture, but that’s all it is, isn’t it?  It’s not  _real_. You’re not real.”

Danse flinched, and the words he had daggered at Curie the first few nights in Sanctuary haunted him vividly.

His heart twinged, and his chest tightened; if Danse hadn’t felt this crushing grief before, he’d have thought he was having a heart attack.  He whipped around to stride angrily out the door, letting the last of Haylen’s words fall at his back, eyes burning.

“Those tears aren’t real either!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse becomes distant. Curie is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty.

Curie nearly dropped her book as she saw Danse shove in through the doorway, his movements rough and angry, despite the fact that he wasn’t touching anything at all.

Curie swallowed.

“Danse, is something wrong?”

“No.”  

The cold in his voice shot icicles through her, liquid nitrogen coursed through her veins.  Curie had half a mind to leave Danse to his own devices; a few months earlier, and she probably would have.  But things were different now – she had to believe that.  He was no longer just a guy she had lived with, he was the end to every day, and who she returned to after work.  He picked up items off the top shelf for her and made her coffee in the mornings.  He was the only one who seemed to be able to short fuse the fragile innerworkings of her own heart, and so she could not leave him be.  She buried her fear and put her book down on the coffee table.

She carefully made her way down the hall to Danse’s room, leaning carefully on the door frame.    Danse was sitting at the desk in his room, hunched over something – weapon schematics? His eyebrows were knit up in intense concentration, but his eyes were not seeing the blueprints in front of him. His back shielded him from her soft inquisitiveness, and her, from the anguish etched on his face.

“I…don’t know what happened back there…” Curie started, searching for the right thing to say – something the Curie from a few months ago wouldn’t have been able to.  Things were different now, they  _were_.

“But, if you want to talk about it, I’m here. I can’t fix anything…I know that, this is bigger than me – I know that too, and I…can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, but whatever you need…I want to help you.”

The words felt strange to her, and the apprehension, foreign in the wake of her and Danse’s cozy routine.  But she felt resolved in her unwavering declaration to Danse. No matter how he felt, these months had happened, and she would not abandon those memories, or Danse, for anything.

Danse sighed heavily, turning to look at her, his eyes blazing but not angry.  Curie had almost preferred it if he had been.  The sharp angles of his face, paired with his eyebrows pulled agitatedly together said  _anger_ , but the wet glimmering in his eyes screamed  _lost_ , and it plummeted Curie back to the lonely nights where Danse couldn’t allow her to be close with him; for hatred of her and himself.

“You can’t help, Curie.  There’s nothing to be done.  I am what I am, and what that is, is a-“

“ _Kind, decent, wonderful person._ ”

The surprise of the uncharacteristic outburst was diluted by the stifling tension in the room.

“Not a person, a  _synth_.” Danse corrected bitterly.

“Maybe not human, but certainly a  _person_ , certainly someone with  _humanity_.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Danse scoffed harshly.  “You can’t, because you’ve never been human a day in your life.”

“Neither have you.”

“I was human for  _thirty years_! I remember my childhood – my parents.  I was human until Nora or the Institute or  _whoever_  decided I wasn’t!”

“Synth or human – what does that matter?  You’re a good person.”  Curie said weakly.

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”  His tone was poison, but Curie had been exposed to this before.

“I would.” She said, pressing her mouth into a thin, resolute, line.

“You think a synth is all you are.  You think that’s all that matters, but you are not a synth to me.”  Curie’s own gaze bore into Danse’s now, and no one would dare intercept the charged look they shared.

“To me you are the man I have breakfast with every morning.  I stitch you up when you hurt yourself, and you fix the holes in the walls.”  

Curie willed her voice not to shake.

“I end my day with you every night, and I start it with you every morning.  You’re my drinking buddy.  My closest confidant”

Curie’s eyes burned.

“You’re my  _friend_.  You’re…everything to me.”

Danse jerked back in surprise, his eyes wide at the last revelation.  This admission that neither could make prior to this, in the dismal, normalcy of their undisturbed routine.

Curie’s gaze never left Danse’s, she couldn’t after displaying such vulnerability; she had worn her bleeding heart on her sleeve, and now she had to defend it.

Danse’s heart twinged – if he had been human, wouldn’t this have been so much easier?  To love her?  To hold her? There was a reason these sentiments had only escaped at this point – this scary, precarious point.  They struggled with this, and why shouldn’t they? They weren’t human, something like love could not come naturally to them.  This, whatever this was, wasn’t even love, it was some cheap imitation, stored as data in their “feelings chip” or whatever.

Grief ripped through Danse again, jagged and raw; this cheap imitation is the closest he would get, and he couldn’t bring himself to let himself be fooled by it.

“Nice.  Which part of your programming made you say that?”  Danse’s voice seemed colder than before, if that were possible.

Curie flinched.

She turned around, and strode out of the room hurriedly, not wanting Danse to see the wetness she swiped from her eyes. She would have shut herself up in her own room, but it wasn’t far enough away from Danse.  Neither was the living room.  Curie sniffled loudly and walked straight out the door, her mind frantically searching for any place she could retreat to.

The clinic?  There’s no way Danse would seek her out after all.  She could easily find a mattress to drag in to one of the back rooms for a sleeping arrangement.  

Curie fell into a slight jog, beelining up the street to the clinic.

Haylen turned to look at her as she came in, eyes and nose red, puffy from crying.

Crap.  She had forgotten that the scribe was still here.

“Wha-“

Curie cleared her throat, trying to ignore the shameful pink on her face, and the uncomfortable thickness of her voice.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I-uh, yeah.”

Anger and resentment flashed through Curie – this was  _her_  fault.  The  _Brotherhood’s_  fault, for cultivating such a toxic attitude.  Curie swallowed bitterly, but she was still a doctor. She had taken an oath.  Or rather, she had been hardcoded to take an oath. Still though, she would honor it. She had honor.  She was above these…these…there were no words for such a hateful group of people.

“Good.”

Curie turned away, trying to find something to busy herself with.  In her volatile state, she couldn’t manage.

“I was, uh, thinking about heading out now.” Haylen rubbed the back of her neck.  “I’m feeling well enough, and I saw…my old friend, and anyways, the Brotherhood really is expecting me back.”

“Good.”  Curie couldn’t bite back the veiled hostility.

Curie went to the shelf containing the more common medical supplies, grabbing a few stimpaks, and some Rad-X.  She set them on the counter in front of Haylen, who was rustling around in her backpack.

“Take some of these for the journey home.” Curie mustered up the discipline to give her supplies, she could not however do the same for her usual kind disposition.

“And,” Curie went back to the desk, rummaging around in the top drawers – her snack collection.  She pulled out a container of purified water, a single mutfruit, and some potato crisps, leaving those on the counter next to the supplies.

“You will need to make sure to keep your strength up and keep hydrated.  Fatigue and dehydration played a big part here.”  Curie kept her eyes wide, and earnest, she had to focus on the medicine; a place devoid of emotion, otherwise she’d…she didn’t even know.  

Haylen seemed to be able to sense her unstable mood. She carefully reached for the supplies on the counter, placing them deliberately in her bag, never taking her eyes off Curie.

“Thank you,” The nicety was tight, like the forced smile on the scribe’s face.

Wordlessly, Curie returned to her desk, focusing on anything else; her already organized files, the completed charts; damn it, why hadn’t she remembered her book?  Curie’s back deflected the rustling of Haylen’s departure, before she buried her head in her hands, resigned.

The next few days, were like the first few days all over again in some ways, with the long, Danse-less nights, and the smothering silence that seemed to suffocate Curie in her exile to the clinic. In another way, they were so much worse than the initial first few days – her heart ached for the night conversations they had, warm with companionship and the buzz of alcohol.  Now most nights, Curie spent huddled up on the dingy mattress she had found, her stomach twisting knots as her restless mind built up the flimsy hope that maybe, just maybe the next day, Danse would come find her. That he would apologize and tell her to come back.  That they would be back to sharing coffee, and their day, and maybe even more.  Each sunset, her heart dropped as another day passed with no sign of Danse.

On the other side of Sanctuary, things were no better.  The house remained dark, the light seemingly having left when Curie did.  Danse spent most of his nights huddled on the couch, banished to his own solitude and the demons in his mind.  He spent nights stumbling aimlessly between wondering what Curie was up to, and hating himself for thinking he even had the right to yearn for her.  

Spring had sprung everywhere in the Commonwealth, people in Diamond City played “baseball”, and strange, and sometimes dangerous flowers had begun blooming, even in Goodneighbor, much to Mayor Hancock’s amusement.  The warmer season seemed to be revving up, for everyone except Curie and Danse, who were trapped in their own, especially bitter, winter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse searches for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

A week passed in miserable silence, before Curie had, had enough.  It was with a stony demeanor, and hardened resolve, that she schlepped back home; her desperation for the comfy routine she had known from before outweighing her resent at being the one to chase after Danse again.  She swallowed bile.

_He’s processing.  He’s coping. He’s healing._

This, Curie could at least begin to comprehend, a little.  Healing was not, after all, a pretty process.

“Danse?”  She called out tentatively.

No response.

“Danse, I just…I want to say I’m sorry.”  

Curie noticed that the kitchen was strangely void of any dishes; it was as if the morning she had left – the one which included her cleaning the dishes she and Danse had used at breakfast, had been the last time it had been used.

“You’re hurting, and I shouldn’t have left you while you were.  _Especially_ , not after telling you I’d help.”

No one was in the living room – not that, that was particularly strange at this time of the day, it was typically only in use when she and Danse were unwinding for the evening.

“I – made a mistake.  But I want to be here now, if you’ll let me, if it’s not too late.”

Her room, of course, was empty.  His room was also empty.  The workshop just outside their house?  Empty, and so was the power armor station.  Curie’s heart sank, although she could not place what had sunk it.

Then it hit her.

Danse never went anywhere without his power armor. It had been the only constant in his life; even with the tumultuous revelation brought on by the Brotherhood.

Panic seized her, and Curie fled the house, blindly grappling for any sort of leads that may be laying around.  For every settler she frantically stumbled upon, she had to ask; “Have you seen Danse?”

Each answer sent her heart plummeting further down.

“I don’t know.”

“Haven’t seen him for a few days now.”

“Big fellow – right?  In the – uh, robot armor?  Heard he skipped town.”

“Who is he?”

As the pale morning melted into a golden afternoon, and that into a velvet night, Curie found herself curled up on her bed, in the house she had shared with Danse.  She buried her head in her hands, frustrated and sad and…a bunch of other feelings she couldn’t place because she couldn’t identify them with her green emotional capacity in this strange new body.  She couldn’t seem to identify them, because they wouldn’t stop  _somersaulting around in her head_ , dammit, swimming in maddening circles on rotation with Danse’s face; angry, despairing, gone.

By the end of the night, there were no more tears to cry, Curie was hollow.  She wondered if this is what Danse had felt when the Brotherhood had expelled him.  Like he had lost everything.

When dawn broke, in a battleground of pinks, oranges, and violets, Danse had wandered into a vaguely familiar fold of tall, downtown buildings, and decaying streets.  His power armor creaked and groaned with every heavy lain step, and despite the brute power he welded inside it, he felt strangely vulnerable. One step.  The great metal skin shuddered.  Two steps.  It stopped. Three.  He pulled the release lever, and despite its wear and tear, the great alloy encasing bloomed like a flower, releasing Danse from its center.

Danse was surprised with how easy it was to not even look back, as he trudged on, leaving his power armor forgotten in the rubble, like dead skin a snake shed.  He was confident in the ease of his movements, with only his thin shirt, and standard trousers to shield him.  His own legs took him farther in much shorter time, and Danse was pleased with the natural work his muscles seemed to do.  He was more exposed without his power armor – certainly less strong, but somehow, better, faster, like a well-oiled…he couldn’t bring himself to finish the intrepid thought.

Luckily, something caught him before his mind could fall down that rabbit hole; the harsh fluorescent glow;

_Goodneighbor._

 Despite every notion the Brotherhood had instilled in him to believe about this place; a strange conglomerate of society’s outcasts, despite everything he himself had upheld about this “rathole” city, he couldn’t  _not_ go in.  So, he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and the mayor of Goodneighbor have a chat.

Danse pushes through the make-shift gate of the dingy fence; the old Danse would’ve only entered Goodneighbor if he was armed to the teeth, safeties off, and suspicious of the riffraff one could see loitering around the “city’s” main area; now he  _was_  one of the riffraff.  A few Neighborhood Watch members shot him a glance here and there – they didn’t recognize him.  It was probably better that way.

Danse didn’t know what to do; he was exhausted and for the first time since leaving the Brotherhood, he realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to be working towards anymore.  The betterment of humanity?  What a  _joke_.  The glory of synth kind?  Didn’t really strike a chord with him either.  Danse didn’t even know what he was doing in Goodneighbor, but he did know that he could go for a drink.

His heart twinged, thinking of Curie, as he made his way to the Third Rail; a month ago, he would’ve been curled on the couch next to her, beer in hand, talking about whatever weird injuries the settlers at Sanctuary had somehow managed to get.  The inside of the Third Rail was dusty, and the air was thick with the stench of cigarettes; it hadn’t changed at all since the last time he had been here with Nora.

Ham stood at the entrance, and Danse could feel his ghoulish stare studying him as he entered.  For a moment, Danse half-thought he wouldn’t be allowed in – the Brotherhood had certainly been no friend to Goodneighbor, but Ham merely jerked a thumb in the direction of the descending stairwell.

“Music’s downstairs.”

“Thank you.”  Danse gave a short nod, before following in that direction.

Danse realized that was probably the first time he had talked to a ghoul as if he would a human - how long had he been away from the Brotherhood now?  The tinny sounding noises of a Goodneighbor night got brighter and sharper the further down Danse went.  As the narrow stairway opened up into the Third Rail’s main room, Danse could hear that the evening was in full swing; Magnolia was on stage, the bar was full. The center of the room had opened up into a sort of dance floor, while the tables were all filled with throngs of people and their drinks.  In the back, a couple of…patrons hung back, undoubtedly dealing with chems.  Through the hazy veil of a healthy night life, Danse could make out the form of whom he recognized as John Hancock; Goodneighbor’s mayor, slouched concentratedly over a coffee table.

Danse beelined to the bar, slipping up onto the stool, not wanting to be here, but not wanting to be alone in the Commonwealth, even more.

“What’ll it be?”

Whitechapel Charlie whizzed over.

“Anything that kicks.”

“So, anyone in Goodneighbor then?”

Danse didn’t answer.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, coming right up.”  

If Charlie could have rolled his eyes, Danse was sure he would’ve.  A few moments later, Charlie had him saddled with a glass of whiskey.  Danse could’ve been sitting there for minutes or maybe hours, nursing his drink, sipping slowly, until his mind slowly fogged up, and cushioned the edge he was on.  His mind wandered, sometimes following an idle train of thought, or other times, jumping in to eavesdrop on various background conversations.

So-and-so’s daughter ran off with some cult leader, rumors in Diamond City circulated the notion that McDonough could be a synth – Danse inwardly scoffed, he used to think the paper that had debuted the scandalous headline was full of shit; a gossip rag for lonely or bored simpletons, now? It could be the red pill of the Commonwealth.

“Did you hear what happened in the Brotherhood?”

Danse froze, and kept his head down, trying not to let on how intently he was listening to the conversation to his right.

“The Brotherhood of Steel? No, what happened?”

“I heard they uncovered a synth among their ranks. Can you even imagine?  How ironic is that?”

Danse heard two simultaneous laughs; two men.  

“No way!  Was it an Institute synth?”

“I don’t know man – maybe, either way though, it serves them right!”

Clinking glass, followed by brief silence, Danse imagined the motion of sipping a drink; aptly timed.

“Yeah, totally.  The only thing that could make this better is if the Brotherhood was overrun by – what, ferals or something?”

More clinking, and chuckling.

“It would be sort of funny if one synth was all it took to bring them down though, right?  Like the uh- grain of sand, and the, whatcha-ma-call-it, the uh, microchips; if all it took was one tiny thing, to throw a wrench in the whole system.”

“Yeah – maybe that one synth is enough to knock all those cocky bastards off that stupid airship of theirs and-“

Before Danse realized what, he was doing, his arm snapped out, and his knuckles met the side of some drifter’s head. Something heavy clambered to the ground, the heavy thud earning a few startled looks from nearby patrons.  The metal legs of the barstool scratched against the floor.

“Hey man, what the hell?”

“Ham!”  Charlie called from behind the bar, as drifter number two tried to help the man sprawled on the floor up.  

The bouncer from earlier appeared in the entrance of the Third Rail’s main room, and suddenly Danse felt panicked; all those eyes on him, scared, angry, spiteful – they could have just as easily been the crew on the Prydwen, looking at Danse, the synth.

“Hey, hey, what’s the fuss over here?”  

A familiar raspy voice cut through the steady hush of chittering, as Hancock pushed through the crowd.

“Danse?  Is that you?”

His voice melted from annoyed to surprised.

“Mayor Hancock – do you want me to remove him from the premise?”

Danse shot Ham a sour look; he didn’t like the way the bouncer had said  _him_ , like he wasn’t human, like he was vermin, like he was a –

“No, that’s alright, I’ve got this under control.” Hancock waved his hands dismissively. “Carry on.  Nothin’ to see here.”

Obediently, the crowd dispersed, and Danse was so relieved he didn’t fight the arm Hancock had suddenly slung around his neck.

“I wasn’t sure I recognized you, being out of your armor, and in, well, Goodneighbor.  What brings you here?”

Danse shrugged, not really having an answer.

Hancock raised the ridge above his eyes that at one point had eyebrows.

“You just punched a guy out in my bar, I’m going to need a little more to go on.”

Danse glued his eyes to his feet; worn combat boots crusted in Commonwealth dirt, next to Hancock’s leather boots.

“Alright, let’s take this party somewhere a little more…private, and then you tell me what the hell happened.”

Danse was surprised at how pleased he was with that; the opportunity to leave this now hostile room, and the daggered glares of the other patrons.  He followed Hancock out quietly, feeling Ham’s glare on his back as he trailed the mayor out the door, and to the Old State House.  The warm, yellow glow inside the building contrasting starkly with the cold, fluorescent night out in Goodneighbor.  Danse noted the patriotic trappings that littered the house; courtesy of Hancock, and on the other hand, he noticed the paintings of kittens, and the flower vases on every surface – courtesy of Nora, he’d guess.

“Where’s Nora?”  Danse found himself asking suddenly, speaking of which.

“Oh, you know her, off saving the Commonwealth or something.  She can’t stay in one place long.”

“You didn’t go with her?”

Hancock shrugged, “Goodneighbor needs me, and Piper’s been dying to get out with her again.”

“You’re not worried about them?”  Danse’s eyebrows quirked – Piper and Nora both had a knack for trouble, so combined…he couldn’t even imagine; he’d never let Curie go with the two of them.

Hancock glanced back at Danse, “I didn’t say that, but what can ya do?  They’re going to do what they want.”

The two men climbed the winding staircase, to the top floor; Hancock’s quarters.

“Have a seat, make yourself at home.”  Hancock gestured towards the couches, half joking, before flopping down on one, himself.

Danse sat down stiffly across from the wily mayor.

“So, tell me what really happened down there.”

“I don’t know,” Danse admitted, “I just…punched a guy.”

Hancock stared at him.

“…because you were mad?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“…sad?”

Danse’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Could be.”

“…anything?”

“I don’t know.” Danse answered again.

“Well, what brought you to Goodneighbor in the first place?”

“Why?” Danse sent Hancock a sharp look.

“Am I not welcome?”

“Everyone’s welcome in Goodneighbor, it’s just…you hate Goodneighbor.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.”

Hancock casually picked up some jet laying on the coffee table, leaning back before taking a long breathe.

“What happened to your setup in Sanctuary? It was you and uh- what’s her name – Curie, right?”

Danse went cold.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I just had to…get out.”

Hancock studied Danse, “Yeah, I know how that is.”

The tone in the room suddenly shifted, to more serious.  Hancock and Danse were both quiet for a few minutes; both lost in thought.  Danse vaguely wondered if Hancock still felt that way, despite the confidence he projected.  The fire danced in the fire place, casting shadows and warmth sporadically across the room; it reminded him of Curie, and Danse found himself feeling quite lonely again.

Hancock took another puff of jet, “I just hope you know exactly what you’re running from, not all who chase you are hunting you down.”

Danse swallowed, “Yeah, I know.”

But he wasn’t sure.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Danse left Goodneighbor a few hours later – he and Hancock hadn’t talked much, they hadn’t had a lot to talk about after all, but he did make a personal escort to Daisy’s, and helped him get supplied up for whatever journey Danse was taking.  When morning was just barely dawning upon the Commonwealth, Danse snuck out of Goodneighbor, cloaked in the swirling shadows the ascending sun cast.  Despite his hasty exit from Goodneighbor, Danse wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, except away.  So long as Goodneighbor was behind him, and Sanctuary was out of sight, Danse kept walking straight, passing through parts of the Commonwealth he didn’t even know existed.

He hadn’t realized how south he had wandered, until the familiar looming industrial buildings punctuated the expanse of the horizon.  He should’ve known better than to stray near them, a year ago, he would’ve analyzed his potential at getting caught, and headed in the opposite direction, but now the longing familiarity called to him, and he was powerless to resist such an allure. In his sorry state, perhaps he wanted to get caught; his mind was stagnant without a goal, and he felt empty without the fever pitch of a united cause to keep him going.  Before, it had all been for the Brotherhood, but that was gone.  Lately, Curie had haunted his dreams, but she was gone too.  He’d made a pretty terrible impression on the final place where people who belonged to no one, could go, and while it could at least be said that the journey was of more importance than the destination, wasn’t the nature of a journey that there was an eventual destination?  If you weren’t journeying towards anything, wasn’t that just wandering aimlessly?  That didn’t feel quite as important as a journey.

Danse needed a direction, and to find a direction he needed a place. He wracked his brain for somewhere he could go.  His childhood memories were as unreliable as his Goodneighbor traipse proved to be.  Then what?  He had spent a lot of time with the Brotherhood.  Cambridge Police Station, Prydwen; neither were viable options now.

He remembered when Nora had saved him after Arthur had dispatched her to hunt him down.  Why had she bothered?  She had thought she was doing the noble thing.  He had too – but now?  He didn’t know. Reasonably, he understood that in his emotional turmoil, he was still grieving the loss of his identity, but he had spent so long stewing in this despair, it felt that it was becoming a part of him; ingrained into his nerves, drilled into his bones.  He felt unable to detach himself from this melancholy that had clung to him for so long.

And to think he’d had the chance to not be feeling this way – all those months ago, back at…Listening Post Bravo! That’s right! He’d had told Nora that he’d spend his days there, before he had decided to travel with her.  Based on his current position, he’d gather it was way up north.  It was going to be a long journey, but at least now, it was in fact, a journey.

Danse walked without stopping; when fatigue threatened to break him down, he’d think about his synth legs – if he wasn’t truly flesh and blood, then he had no reason to fear for the throbbing ache that shot up his shins and burned his thighs.  When hunger gnawed in the pit of his stomach, he stopped thinking about it as hunger, and instead thought of it as fueling; and how reasonably, he should have enough fuel to last him X amount of time.  When thirst rubbed his throat raw, he thought of it in terms of the routine maintenance he did on his power armor.  A splash of oil here, make sure everything’s working properly; minimal wear and tear was fine.

This psychological detachment from the sacred human rituals he himself thought he had been confined to his entire life, is what allowed for him to march on the fifteen hours he did.  By the time he had decided to hunker down for the night, he’d had no clue how far north he’d made it.

It was as dark as it had been when he departed from Goodneighbor, when he settled down on a rotting, mattress he found slapped in the corner of the decaying exoskeleton of a crumbling, red-bricked building.  It reminded him of the quaint down town areas like Concord, or how Quincy had been.  He idly thought of Preston Garvey.  What was he doing now?  Was Nora back with Piper?  What sort of trouble had they gotten into?  Danse lay back on the moldy make-shift bed, his pack supporting his head, as he turned his old holotags this way and that; studying them, running through the strange lineup of people Nora had somehow managed to recruit to unite against the Institute.  All these people, all these different agendas; it was another thing that was said, right? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend?’ The Institute, despicable as it was, had in fact, united the Commonwealth, while the factions that strived to salvage it, had ended up further fracturing the bleeding infrastructure.  _How ironic,_ Danse thought.

Hancock, Nick Valentine – one of the only synths Danse could stand, MacCready…Danse ran through almost all of them, skipping over the one he wanted to see most in that moment.  His heart toed a careful line between blissful avoidance, and raw pining. A sharp crack pierced the constant pops and snaps of the building settling, and ripped Danse from the rut his mind had seemed stuck in these days.  Danse’s self-preservation kicked into high gear, as the adrenaline pumped through him.  Wordlessly, he sat up, shoving his holotags in the pocket of his trousers, listening intently for another indication that he was no longer alone.

The creaking of a floorboard several rooms away confirmed it.  Danse smoothly rolled onto the balls of his feet, placing a hand at his hip, reaching for the 10mm pistol he had brought along as an afterthought.  The familiar motion brought him some comfort, but at the back of his mind, he knew it would be little help.  Whoever was preying on him now, was probably not alone; and he had brought no extra ammo.  He had maybe a handful of bullets – he had only brought enough along to ensure a quick, painless death at his own hands.  Or at least he thought he had.  

Danse moved quietly, cat-like, as he fluidly crept along the wall, out of the line-of-sight from the doorway.  He could hear faint creaking from footsteps that were not his.  Danse pressed himself against the wall, next to the doorway, ready to pounce on whoever had taken to stalking him.  Danse imagined the intruder right on the other side, breath quiet, probably with more ammunition, and a better gun.  He was probably waiting for Danse to out himself first.  Danse was waiting for the opposite.  It was a silent tug of war in the confines of a space that was thick with tension.  Danse could hear his heart hammer in his chest, and he had half the thought that his predator could too.

Something heart-wrenchingly familiar appeared; the white, Brotherhood of Steel insignia on the gleaming chest pieces, worn by the Brotherhood patrol of three; led by none other than Knight Rhys.

“Rhys.” Danse exhaled heavily, dread still jolting his heart like a live wire.

“Danse.”  Rhys sneered. “I knew you weren’t dead.  Haylen said she didn’t know anything, but I could tell.   _I knew it_.  Pendleton let you go.”

Danse blinked at him; when he had been in the Brotherhood, Rhys’ sour demeanor had seemed like a strength; a will to get things done that left no room for failure, and high standards that had kept his fellow Brothers and Sisters in line.  Now, Danse could see that this blind stubbornness was in fact just something he hid behind. No wonder it was so easy to paint non-humans as the boogie men.  Men like Rhys were like scared children.

“So, you’ve got me now.  You’ve learned the truth.  What are you going to do with it?  You know Elder Maxson doesn’t want me alive.”

“And yet, alive here, you stand.”

Danse studied Rhys’ expression, angry, betrayed, maybe even detesting, but nowhere in his eyes could he spot the intent to kill. That didn’t save him the surprise of feeling Rhys’ knuckles crash against his cheek though.  Danse had a good head of height on him, but Rhys’ had landed the first blow, and was  _fueled by his rage_.  Danse stumbled backwards onto the worn wood, feeling his right cheek lift and throb.  Danse lifted one hand to rest gingerly across the swollen area.  It was a solid hit.  Danse raised his other hand to block Rhys as the man lunged at him again.

“ _You-rat-bastard!_ ”  he hissed through gritted teeth.  “You know what you are, and you still have the audacity to fight back?  After all you’ve done for the Brotherhood – after all the Brotherhood has done for you?”

Danse hesitated – Rhys was right, he didn’t need to fight back.  And yet, Danse couldn’t fight the unrelenting resistance that washed through him.  He didn’t want to fight, and yet, he couldn’t  _not_.

Danse wrestled with Rhys, flipping him, and pinning him, one leg, packed with muscle as tight as whipcord, trapping Rhys’ chest beneath it.

“Stand down, Brother.”

“ _You’re no brother of mine!_ ”  Rhys spat.

Danse waited for the bitter sting to hit him, but it did not.  Danse found strength unknown to him before in this small victory.

“Arthur left me alive.  Your Paladin, demanded I be kept alive.  Surely you wouldn’t undermine your superiors like that?”

Danse felt strange as the words left his mouth. Rhys ceased his struggling beneath him and scoffed.

“Who are you even?  Banished by the Brotherhood, having betrayed the Brotherhood, and now preaching to me about the pecking order as if you’re still a part of it. To think Haylen and I had no idea of the monster we served all that time; we were cooped up in the police station for  _years_  with the devil.”

Danse didn’t skip a beat.

“Trust me; I know exactly how you feel.”

“Right, of course you do, with those Institute-grade  _feelings-processors_  those eggheads put in you when they popped you out of an assembly line.”

Danse felt himself grimace, “Exactly.”

Danse leaned back, and Rhys was on his feet in an instance.

“Whatever.  I won’t waste any more time on you.”  He jerked his chin at the dark shadow that had appeared on Danse’s cheek.

“Let that serve as a warning shot.  We catch you again, you’re dead.  For real.”

“I would expect nothing else.”

Rhys curled his lip disgustedly before turning away, and angling two fingers in a ‘move-out’ gesture to the two Brothers behind him. They ignored Danse, following obediently in Rhys’ wake.

“Ad Victorium.” Danse murmured to their retreating figures.

The next day, the familiar outline of Sanctuary emerged on the horizon, after several more hours of walking.  Danse tried to tell himself it was an accident – that the night’s events had left him disoriented, which had led him to navigate uncharacteristically poorly.  And yet, Danse knew he couldn’t believe such a blatant lie – that it hadn’t been something else that drew him back.  Danse frowned as he crossed the bridge but felt lighter than when he had left.  His stomach turned nervous flips as he made his way down the main street.  His gait was casual – he was just ready to come home finally.  But he couldn’t resist the urgency that pulled him to the neon-purple lettering;  _Clinic_.

Every nerve in Danse vibrated within him as he climbed the front steps to the doorway, pausing in it.  Longingly, his eyes stayed leveled at Curie’s back as she sat hunched over a small pile of paper on her desk.  He guessed she was charting; it seemed quiet these days, and he recalled her complaining about the boring routine of charting, without the occasional bumped or scraped knee – or swallowed marble – to keep her busy.  Danse’s heart twinged, and in this moment, he could emphasize with what ‘a sight for sore eyes’ meant.  

“Can I have you check something out for me?”

His voice rumbled with fatigue, and Curie turned around automatically, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed.

“ _Danse?_ ”

He gave a half-smile that landed as a grimace.

“Hi Curie.”

In the next moment, she flew at him, and Danse couldn’t miss the wet glimmer of tears.  He opened his arms, expecting her to grab at him, and overcome with the need to pull her close.  Instead he felt her fists ram against his chest.  They were small, and ineffectual, but he watched as sobs shook them, and he had to fight the urge to flinch.

“You  _left_ , I didn’t know if you were coming back, or if you were even  _alive_!”

“I-I know.”

“You’ve been cruel to me before Danse, but this, this was the  _worst_.”

Words failed Danse.  He had no defense.  He knew what he had done, had known it while he was doing it.  He had done it anyways.

“And you will do it again, no?”  She sniffled, her eyes sad and fierce.  

“I won’t, I promise.  This was the last time.”

“You understand why I cannot believe that.”

Curie frowned at him, and Danse was frozen, the heat in her eyes wanting to force him back, but her fingers bunched at the fabric of his shirt, trapping him there.

“I know, but that won’t stop me from trying to convince you.”

Curie couldn’t hold back the next wave of tears, as they streamed down her face.  Danse let her bury her face in his chest, and his warm arms came to rest around her. He was home again; and the damages from when he left could be repaired tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curie is forced to face her feelings for Danse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

All too soon, Danse felt her warmth recede when she pulled away, roughly bringing the sleeve of her shirt against her eyes and rubbing.  Her face was puffy from crying, and the remnants of tears still glimmered wetly in her eyes, but the resolved look on her face told Danse that she would speak no more on the subject.

“Now, you are injured, yes?”

“Sort of, maybe not.”

Danse relocated to the counter central to the clinic’s main room – the go-to examination table.  Danse recalled how Haylen had once lain in the same spot – the day things had gotten turned on their head.  It was funny, Danse thought, for so long, when he thought about the day his life came crashing down around him, he thought about the day Arthur had exiled him from the Brotherhood – but in retrospect, that seemed quite small in comparison to the last time he had fought with Curie.

Danse sat perched at the edge of the counter as Curie went to her desk to grab the clipboard, set with a relatively clean piece of paper, and a pen.  

“Do you feel any pain anywhere?”                                                                

Danse’s cheek still throbbed.

“No.”

Curie studied him carefully, before reaching forward and pressing two fingers gingerly against the dark bruise that bloomed across his face.  Danse winced, and Curie could hear his breathing catch as he bit back a yelp of pain.

“Hm,” Curie scribbled something down on the sheet of paper.

She set the clipboard down and went to the counters that were pressed against the wall, holding standard examination tools; a reflex hammer, a stethoscope, and a blood pressure gauge.

Curie grabbed the first tool and returned to Danse. His eyes hung on her every movement as she begun her ministrations.  She gave two solid taps at each knee, and watched as his legs flew up, like a ragdoll’s.

Curie nodded to herself and returned to the clipboard to scribble something else down.

“Curie…”  Danse started.  

Curie didn’t spare him a glance, just returned the reflex hammer to its tidy position on the counter, before moving to the stethoscope.

“Remove your shirt please.”

Danse swallowed, Curie’s uncharacteristically cold demeanor putting him on edge, as he reached over to pull off his shirt.

Curie averted her eyes, knowing full well that the feelings she had worked hard to bury over Danse’s absence could resurface if she let herself fall victim to her old vices.  Even without looking though, she could feel the attraction.  She swallowed, her tongue darting out briefly to wet her chapped lips, before equipping the stethoscope, and raising the chest piece to place it against the left side of Danse’s chest.

Curie could feel the warmth that radiated from his skin, and she fought the urge to breath deeply as his scent swirled around her in their proximity.  She was just listening to his heartbeat – standard stuff, and yet, it felt more intimate than she had ever been with him.

She listened to the steady  _thu-thunk_ , a consistent, two-part noise as the blood was funneled through the chambers of his heart.  Idly she wondered if this was an objective test.  Was this faster than normal?  She had never listened to his heart before.  Danse fretted above her to himself – he doubted she’d need the stethoscope to hear how his heart was pounding right about now.

Curie gently relocated the chest piece twice more across the expanse of his sternum, before reaching round to press it against various places along his upper back.  

“Take a deep breath,” she murmured, and Danse could feel her breath fan out across his shoulder.

He had to fight back the urge to shiver.

An eternity passed, with Curie huddled closely against Danse, listening to his heart, before she pulled away, and untucked the earpieces from their places.

“Your heart sounds fine.”

“That’s good.”

A heavy silence hung between them for a few moments, save for the sound of the pen scratching against the paper, as Curie wrote down a few more haphazard notes.

“Listen, Curie…”

“Danse.”  She stopped him.

“I’m  _sorry_.  I know that saying that won’t ever be enough for how I hurt you, but I  _am._ ”  

His gaze bore into Curie’s eyes, which were wide, indignant, and brimming with tears again.  Her eyebrows contorted her sadness into something sharper, akin to anger. But she said nothing.

“If apologizing even eased your hurt a little bit, I’d say it to you every single day, until you felt okay again.”  

Danse slid from his place on the counter and stepped forward to catch Curie’s face between his two large palms.  Her skin was soft; softer than he had imagined it.

Curie tried to lurch away, “Danse, I can’t-“

She turned her head away, still caught in his gentle grip, but tilted so he couldn’t see her expression; he could no longer burn her with those eyes of his.

“Please,” he urged her, “Just give me another chance – I know I don’t deserve it, but I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you, if you please just give me a last chance.”

The pad of his thumb drew gently across her cheek, and it wasn’t until Danse felt wetness, that he realized she was crying.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Stop saying that,  _please_.”

“But I am.”  

Danse’s voice was smaller than either had ever heard it.  Curie sniffled loudly and turned abruptly to look at him again, blinking back the tears that streamed steadily from her eyes.

“You have  _got_  to stop saying that though, because if you don’t – “Curie hiccupped, gasping slightly, the intensity of her sobs leaving her out of breath, “I’ll come back to you.  I will, because I love you, I’ve loved you  _forever_.”

Danse’s heart leapt at the revelation, and he moved in, his hands cradling rather than trapping now, as he pressed his forehead gently to hers.

“As I have, you.”

Curie let out a shaky breath, “And yet, you still left.”

“And I’ll regret that every day until I die, but I’m here now.”  Danse murmured.

Curie’s hands reached up to press over his, holding him to her.

“I can’t trust that,”

Danse’s nose nudged at hers, and he thought the last centimeters of space between them might physically kill him, every nerve in his entire being felt frayed, as Curie’s touches sent electric shocks through him.

“You can,” he whispered.

He leaned in, and Curie turned slightly, his nose skimming along her cheekbone.

“Trust me,” he breathed.

Curie froze, and in her stillness, Danse seemed to consume her.  His warm breath against her face, his warm hands encompassing her, his scent – metallic and mechanical, and distinctively him.  His lips were a hairsbreadth away, and seconds seemed too big a unit of time to measure the way each moment seemed to expand into a million fractals of lifetimes between them.  

Curie could no longer recall anything outside of this, right now.  An eternity could’ve passed, or maybe another two hundred years, and yet, it was quite vividly, a mere two heartbeats until Danse was able to close the distance, and she felt his soft lips meld against hers.  Curie gasped at the new onslaught of sensation.  Her heart went into overdrive, and she thought she might have a heart attack.  Happy and sad and worry were long gone now, replaced only with the all-consuming love she had harbored for the man kissing her.  She threw her arms around his neck, and her fingers threaded through his hair.

Danse moved his lips gently but firmly, and he shut his eyes, concentrating intently on the details of the lovely woman in his grip. Her light, subtle scent, the tender warmth, and the satiny way her skin slipped across his.  Her kisses were tentative; she had never done such things before, and yet, Danse could think of no better fit.  She followed his lead meticulously, filling in the gaps he couldn’t, like two puzzle pieces.

They kissed like that as the sun dipped below the horizon, the fluorescent  _Clinic_  sign outside casting a singular shadow through the window, as they stayed like that, twined together.


	12. Chapter 12 - [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curie and Danse reconcile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Night had fallen when Curie could finally peel herself from Danse; her cheeks were thoroughly flushed, and her lips a little swollen. She smiled tentatively up at him, one of his hands still cradling her jaw, as he ran a thumb gently across her cheekbone.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Curie warmed at the sentiment, as something strange and intangible, and a little exciting stirred inside of her.  The kiss was over, but Curie still felt a rising heat in herself, and her heart still stuttered unevenly.

“How long?”

Danse looked sheepish now, “Longer than I’d like to admit.”

Outside of their cozy bubble, crickets chirped a cacophony that followed the darkness closely; everyone seemed to have retreated into their homes for the night, and so despite the open doorway of the Clinic, Curie felt sufficiently guarded, cloaked in the shadows of the night, with only the glowing fluorescent sign mounted on the front of the building to hint at the evening’s activities.

Danse noticed the way she seemed to study the Sanctuary night.

“It’s getting late.” He remarked, before unwebbing his hand from Curie, “We should head back home.”

Curie startled slightly at ‘ _home’_.

“Right – I’ve forgotten that I won’t be sleeping here anymore.”

“I’ve been gone; you still slept  _here_?”  Danse’s eyes furrowed.

Curie looked at Danse matter-of-factly, “I couldn’t go back without you; that was  _our_  home, not mine.”

Danse’s heart twinged, and despite the overwhelming urge to pull her close again, he settled for just grabbing her hand, as they made the short walk to the house they would share once again, their twined hands swinging easily between them.  When they reached the old house again, Danse flicked the light switch, and after some hesitation, the dim wall lights sputtered on.

Curie onced-over the kitchen and living room immediately upon stepping in; it looked the same as the last time she and Danse had been here.  The dishes were still clean and neatly tucked away– probably from the nervous cleaning sprees Curie had taken to, leading up to her last big fight with Danse.  A copy of  _Guns and Bullets_  still lay open on the table, and from where she was standing, Curie could tell that the article was on some pre-war rifle.  

“It feels like the last time we were on this couch, was a lifetime ago.”  Curie remarked as she meandered over to the living room and ran a hand along the length of the scarred upholstery.

“It’s been way too long since we’ve had a beer together.”  Danse agreed.

Quietly, they both reveled in the warm memories of nights filled with alcohol that warmed their cheeks and easy companionship that warmed everything else.  Yet, neither could bring themselves to instigate another.  Those evenings had been quiet, warm, and friendly because that was how they had been back then.  Quiet from the precarious truce in Danse’s volatile state, warm out of the sympathy Curie held for him, and friendly out of polite stability and necessity.

Now?  Curie was new to where they stood with each other now, but she could be sure of one thing; it was different than before.  Now Curie could see that where one faltered, the other could continue forward for the both of them.  Now there was a searing heat that settled upon them whenever they were in the same room as each other.  She liked Danse, she liked him a lot, and then some, but Curie could not place these terrifyingly new feelings yet.  

She turned to Danse to find that his dark gaze was already leveled on her face.  His own was unsmiling, but not void of warmth.  It was a face she could not decipher; she had never seen him look at her like this.  Curie could only stop and watch as he approached her, deliberately, as if he knew he might scare her off.

When Danse reached her, he took her in his arms again, pulling her in.  Curie let her eyes fall shut and inhaled deeply into the warm fabric of his shirt.  The scent of metal and gunpowder that clung to him made her warmer still, and while Curie hadn’t explored such feelings before, she had spent decades studying the human body – and she thought she had a pretty good idea of where those feelings were coming from.

Danse raised a hand and brought it under her chin to gently angle her face towards his before he swooped down to capture her lips with his again.  His kiss was soft and sweet; his nose pushing at Curie’s intermittently as he melded himself to her.  Curie’s heart nearly sang at the contact, the butterflies in her stomach were going crazy; but still, she didn’t want soft and sweet.  The searing heat that raged through her burnt those butterflies to a crisp. Curie’s eyebrows furrowed, and she threw her arms around Danse’s neck, pressing herself to him as she tumbled deeper into the kiss.

She could feel his surprise almost immediately; the way he staggered back on a foot as a result despite his larger frame.  Danse securely rewrapped his arms around her waist, a little tighter now, but still cautious.  Curie’s fervor was new territory to him.  What they were doing – this was new to her.  Tonight, seemed to be a night full of new frontiers; Danse wanted Curie to have all the room she needed to properly  _explore_  this frontier.

Curie’s hands slid forward to brace both sides of Danse’s face, securely pulling him to her, her lips moving wantingly against his. Danse tilted his head to the side so that he could deepen the kiss, as he ran his tongue experimentally against Curie’s bottom lip; he was careful to keep his hands still, determined to inch forward at a pace that gave the woman in his arms the room to change her mind despite the way the raging desire inside him jockeyed him forward.  Curie gasped at the feeling of his tongue, but further parted her lips, letting him in.  Danse eased his tongue in, letting it lap against Curie’s, before retreating again as the closing motion of his lips moved against hers.  Their kisses continued in this sort of cycle; the movement of his mouth pushing and pulling like waves against shore.  Curie let out a slight groan, and Danse felt the blood rush south, his arousal jolting through him.  Danse pulled back, panting slightly, his eyes remaining shut for a moment longer, as he composed himself, before he opened them to take in the appearance of the woman before him.

Curie’s own eyes were wide, excited, and alert; her cheeks were a brilliant crimson, and her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath.  It was amazing how such a simple, autonomous motion could be dismissed in the heat of the moment.  

“Curie, we should…”

 _Stop._ Is definitely not what Danse wanted to say.

 _Take it slow_ , is what he knew he should say.

“Take this somewhere else?” Is what he watched Curie say.

In the next moment he had wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, crushing her to his chest.  Curie let out a squeak as he moved them down the hallway and into his bedroom.  Curie had a few moments to take in the stark tidiness of his room; void of any embellishment or clutter, it was practically  _sterile_. That was all Curie had time to think before she was dropped on the bed, the mattress denting briefly with a  slight bounce, before Danse was pressing her into it, and his lips were on hers again.  Excitement and arousal coursed hot and cold through her, as Danse hungrily kissed her, his lips moving at a pace that left her staggering behind.  Curie’s hands stroked up his face to tangle in his hair, threading through the soft, brown locks.  A hum buzzed through him at her soothing touch, and he reached a hand to stroke down the length of her side, from shoulder to hip.  Curie’s breathes were gasping, as her arousal pooled at the juncture of her thighs.  If this what his kisses could do to her, then what about what was to come?  

“ _Oh_!” Curie sighed.

She was enamored with the feeling of his weight against her; all those years running with the Brotherhood had carved him into  _quite the physical specimen_. The hardness of his chest against hers, the ease with which he shifted and moved her beneath him, the trapping way he kissed her.  And then…Curie blushed darkly upon the realization that the stiffness that poked at her thigh was a hardness she had caused.

Danse moved to kiss her neck, and this new onslaught of sensations to the sensitive flesh had Curie reeling.  She felt her toes curl, and she let her head fall back as Danse nipped and sucked, leaving a trail of red marks before soothing his tongue over them softly.

“A-Ah,  _Danse!_ ”  Curie whimpered.

Such vocal admissions only seemed to drive him on.

Curie was hyperaware of the way Danse’s hands smoothed over her shoulders, she almost anticipated him to smooth over her chest, and she burned as he skipped over that to edge against her ribcage.  Her breathing picked up even more as she felt him play with the hem of her flannel button down.

“Curie,” he breathed, huskily.

She squeezed her thighs together at the sound of her name in  _that_  tone, hoping to find some semblance of relief for the burning want that had started to coil within her. Curie peeked an eye open and felt a new wave of heat overwhelm her face at the sight of his gaze boring into her.

“Can I…?”

Curie slid a hand from his hair down to his face, caressing a trail before palming his cheek.

“ _Please_.”

He needed nothing more; feverishly his mouth returned to her neck, kissing a trail down to her jugular, as his hands flew up to the top button of her shirt, pulling the first open.  Danse skimmed his nose against her soft flesh as he shifted to nuzzle into the warm space.  Meanwhile, his hands inched lower, tugging apart the next two button pairs. Curie’s bra was visible at this point, and Danse kissed lower and lower, peppering the tops of her breasts with a series of soft kisses.

Curie shuddered into Danse, both hands returning to tangle into his hair again, keeping him in place.  A sense of urgency overtook Danse as his cock throbbed inside his trousers.  He wrenched the rest of the buttons free, and slid the shirt roughly over Curie’s shoulders, letting her up slightly, so that she could better shrug the garment off.

Danse leaned in, latching onto her clavicle, and leaving another mark as his fingers nimble spanned the fabric of her bra. Curie lifted herself slightly again, this time so that Danse could reach the bra clasp.  Danse nipped sharply at her clavicle, and Curie yelped in pain, her panties further dampening with want.

“Sorry.”  Danse mumbled a quick apology into her skin, before fidgeting with the clasp.

After a few moments of futzing around with it, he impatiently twisted, hard, and with a small  _snap_  the pressure at Curie’s chest loosened.  Quickly, Danse tugged the garment away, before moving to nuzzle into a breast, reveling in the soft, weighty resistance.

“You broke it!”  Curie exclaimed, scolding slightly.

When Danse looked up at her face though, her head was against the comforter on his bed, and her eyes were shut as a heated flush washed over her skin.

“You look…better without it anyways.”

Curie blushed darkly, and Danse shifted so that he could take her left nipple in his mouth.

Curie let out a loud moan as he sucked, his tongue pushing softly against the erect bud, invoking another whine from Curie’s throat.

“Ah –  _mon dieu_!”

Danse couldn’t help but press the throbbing ache between his legs against Curie’s clothed crotch, at the sound of the silky French that spilled from her mouth in her impassioned state.  Curie’s eyes flew open in surprise, as the delicious friction briefly relieved some of the white-hot arousal that burned in her, before he pulled away and it came back, hotter and more demanding than before.

Curie’s fingers, which were still tangled in Danse’s hair, tugged sharply, and Danse growled against Curie’s soft flesh before one hand reached up to roughly grab her other breast, and the other roamed eagerly along her left side.

Curie’s back arched, as she flinched away from the hand at her side, as it brushed over a ticklish spot.  A breathy giggle sounded from her throat, and Danse smiled before releasing the breast.

“You’re ticklish?”

Curie grinned, “I suppose so.”

Danse briefly reached up to nuzzle against Curie’s nose, leaving a kiss at the corner of her mouth, before retreating downward, hooking his fingers at the waistband of her pants.

“It’s cute.”

Curie blushed darkly, and pinched her eyes shut, as Danse eased the fabric over her hips, careful not to take her panties with it. Curie shimmied her hips, trying to make the undressing easier.  With the heavy fabric of her bottoms removed, she felt exposed.  When Danse sat back to run his eyes down the length of her body, she felt even more so, and despite the irrational embarrassemt – they had already made it this far after all – she reached her arms up to cover herself.

Danse raised an eyebrow, moving in to cage his arms on either side of her head, bracing himself over her so that he was nose to nose with her.  He reached a hand to gently tug at one of her arms.

“Since when did you get shy?”

Curie blinked indignantly at him, the pink that stained her cheeks giving her away, “I am not shy! I’m…cold!”

“Hm,” studied her, “Well, I know something that’ll warm you right up.”

He placed a kiss at her mouth before moving south again.

Curie blushed brightly at the thinly veiled innuendo, before a shock of pleasure ran through her, and a loud moan spilled from her mouth.  Danse took a finger and ran it along the seam on the crotch of her panties.  The wet fabric grew even wetter, and his finger was damp and smelled of her.

Curie wriggled beneath her, clenching her thighs together.  

Danse wrenched her thighs apart, and crooked one finger to use the bend of his to run along the seam now.  Curie let out a high keening noise, her hips shifting restlessly beneath him.  Teasingly, he hooked a finger along the crotch of her panties, and shifted it to the side, baring her without removing her panties.  Experimentally, he reached a finger in, watching the way she writhed beneath him, at the focused pleasure.

His cock continued to throb between his legs, as he eased a finger in to her silky wetness.  Curie groaned as Danse pumped a finger in and out for a few moments, before adding another.  Curie’s powerful muscles clamped around them as he pumped, stretching her.  

“A-Ah-“ Curie let out a groan, half pain, half pleasure.

Danse slowed, his eyebrows furrowing.

“N-No, keep going.”  Curie whimpered through gritted teeth.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“A little, but I need to get used to it.” Curie’s eyes flicked briefly to the tent at Danse’s crotch.

“ _That_  will be larger than just two fingers.”

Danse flushed now, but continued his pumping, and after a minute or two, he watched Curie visibly relax, as the pain melted away, and only pleasure remained.

Slickness seeped out of her through his ministrations, and Curie writhed again as he pulled his fingers out.  Gently, Danse slid her soaked panties off, untangling them from her legs before letting them drop to the floor with the rest of their clothes.

Curie lay panting on the bed for a few moments, before she reached a hand down and began rutting against it.  Despite her starving arousal, her inexperienced fingers did little to ease her want, as she frustratedly searched for the little bundle of nerves.  Focused on her search, she didn’t notice Danse remove his shirt in the background, or the sound of the zipper on his trousers as he dropped his pants and briefs. It was until he firmly removed her hand from between her legs, that she noticed him.

Her cheeks flushed darkly as she appraised him; he was beautiful; almost chiseled out of marble like an ancient Greek sculpture. His cock stood fully erect, thick and as large as Curie had anticipated it being.

Danse leaned over so that his own fingers could work at her dripping sex.  In a few moments, he expertly found the small bundle of nerves.  Curie gasped and contorted under his touch.  More wetness seeped out, and Danse shifted so that there was space for him to ease his cock into her.

Curie ground against him, and Danse had to force himself to move more slowly.  Briefly, he pulled his hand away, as he pushed his length in, his girth stretching her, as she predicted, far more than two of his fingers had.

Curie winced, but bit back a pained groan; the small movement did not go unnoticed by Danse, who paused, waiting for her to get used to his size.

A few moments passed, and Curie jostled her hips, signaling for him to continue.  Slowly, Danse pressed on, pushing in until he was all the way in.  Danse’s arms shook as he kept himself from moving, waiting until Curie gave him the okay.  Even when she did, he had to force himself to move slowly; so she could get used to the movement.  He let out a low hiss; it had been so long since he’d felt a woman’s pulsing heat clamped around his length like this.  Danse sat back on his knees, both hands firmly on Curie’s hips as he began a series of slow strokes.  Before him, Curie spread, her hands lightly thrown around her head, her back arching. Impatiently, she ground into him.

“Could you -ah, go faster?”  Curie struggled to string the coherent sentence together, her face twitching with the sensation of him inside of her.

Eagerly Danse picked up the speed.  Now the bedpost clanked against the tinny walls of the room, and a spell of delightful sounds fell from Curie’s mouth.  Danse grunted at the intensity at which his arousal  _tightened_  within him, preparing for his impending orgasm.  He watched as Curie’s breasts bounced from the choppy motion of his thrusts, and stopped for a moment, breaking his constant rhythm.

Curie whined in protest, as Danse roughly tossed her legs over his broad shoulders so that he could press himself against her. His forearms smoothed alongside her own, so that his fingers could interlink with hers.  This was the only indication of tenderness in the interaction; his rough thrusts started up again, and he pressed her into the mattress like he had before.  He felt the slick of the sweat that had accumulated on both of them, as he slipped against her.  The smell and sounds of sex punctuated the peaceful Sanctuary night, and his thrusts grew more and more haphazard as he neared his orgasm.  He set his jaw and forced it at bay; he wouldn’t come until she would.

“D-Danse, please!”  She begged, the sound almost sending him over the edge right then and there.

Danse thrust harder, thoroughly jostling her, as one hand left her grip to move down to her sex, once again rubbing gentle circle against her wetness, and trailing it to her clit.

Curie whined as the coil inside her tightened, her eyebrows furrowed, and her body contorted inward sharply.  Danse groaned as he felt her tighten around him, before her slick emptied out onto his hand.  The warm, velvety wetness only drove him on, as he continued to fuck her through her own climax.  Curie panted, once again vying to catch her breath, as Danse found his own release.

She shuddered, more sensitive than usual as she came down from the high of her own finish.  Danse’s cock twitched inside her, before she felt warmth flood into her; his essence, she’d guess.  

Danse’s face fell forward to bury into the crook of her neck, fatigued.  From her peripheral vision, Curie spotted his arms trembling as he struggled to hold himself up.

“Relax,” she murmured, tracing a finger down the length.

Danse thought his hold might buckle, and so he forced himself off of her, reluctantly pulling his softened member out of her, before rolling over onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

Curie watched the steep rise and fall of his chest as his breathing normalized.

He turned to face her; watching her watch him. He reached a hand up to gently caress the side of her face.  Curie let her eyes fall shut, a soft smile playing at her lips.

“How are you?”

Curie smiled and raised a hand to hold Danse’s touch to her cheek.

“Quite good, and you?”

He sighed, spent, and scooted in to her, so that he could draw the comforter over them, and throw an arm over her waist.  

“Outstanding.”

Curie laughed lightly.  She’d love to see his face right now, she mused, was he smiling softly?  Was he looking at her with adoration in his eyes?  She hoped he was.  She speculated, but she wanted to check to be sure.  

Fatigue made her eyelids heavy though, and between that, the warmth of Danse’s skin against hers, and the dizzying circles he was tracing against the soft skin of her back, she vowed to check when she awoke next.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Danse’s eyes cracked open as pale, morning light filtered in through the window.  Curie nestled warmly in his arms, her back pressed softly to his torso; the perfect little spoon.  He smiled to himself before nuzzling his nose into the soft flesh of her back and taking in her scent.  A subtle sweetness that lingered over her natural scent – distinctively Curie.  He had always been an early riser, which is why he was so surprised to feel her hand reach up over her head to cup his cheek.

“You’re awake,” he murmured into the sensitive flesh where her jaw met her neck.

“I am,” she said softly.

Danse ran a hand over the length of her body, cocooned in the myriad of blankets. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.”

Curie’s uncharacteristically short responses alarmed Danse.  Agitation pricked in his gut, as he craned his neck, trying to see her face.  Noticing this struggle, Curie raised an arm to keep the sheets pinned to her chest, covering herself, before using the other to prop herself up, twisting so she could look at Danse fully.  He raised his eyebrows at her furrowed brow, her expression troubled.

“What’s wrong?”  Danse asked.

Curie hesitated, trying to find a way to say what she wanted, without coming off as needy.  It felt like through every milestone in their relationship Danse had kept all the power – he was amicable when he wanted to be and vanished when he felt less so.  Curie had reached the end of her rope a while ago, but after the last night, she felt like she had given him a piece of her.  Such an important thing was worth ignoring her usual courtesies.

“Last night…”  she began, her cheeks reddening.

She felt what she was asking was perfectly reasonable, if not completely called for at this point.  So why did she feel so silly?

“What about it?” he asked gently, raising a hand to stroke tenderly at her cheek.

The small movement that intended to encourage Curie, only made her cheeks burn more, further flustering her.

“I…well, you’re not…”  Curie’s chest tightened as she fought to get her words out.

Danse’s brow knit together. “Do you regret it?”

“No!”  Curie blurted, her eyes widening.  “I just…I do not enter such relations casually.”

Danse studied her, trying to discern her point through the sporadic tangle of words.

“So, I want to know that you…that last night…wasn’t…”

“…a one-night stand?”

Curie shot Danse a confused look. “I think so – is that what they’re called?”

Danse cocked an eyebrow, his eyes teasing, but his smile lacked any edge.  He reached around Curie to take her in both his arms.

“On the contrary, I have many plans to…’have such relations’ with you in the future.”

Curie made a face, appalled, as she buried her face into his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured in her ear. “I don’t take such things lightly either.”

Curie said nothing, but Danse could feel her visibly relax into him.

The morning dragged on with a comforting drawl; Curie and Danse lounging in bed another hour before the former’s stomach rumbled demandingly.  Danse had chuckled, much to Curie’s embarrassment, before giving her a quick peck on the cheek, and rising to make them breakfast.  In his absence, Curie helped herself to a t-shirt folded neatly on the dresser nearby.  When she was finally clothed, and her hair as unmussed as she could get it, she headed to the kitchen, to find Danse cooking in the kitchen.  He had managed to locate a pair of flannel pajama pants, and a black crewneck, but his hair was still tousled from sleep, much to Curie’s delight.  The enticing aroma of cooking food wafted Curie’s way.

“What are you cooking?”

Danse shot her a smile from his place in front of the stove, the contents in his pan bubbling and popping.

“Deathclaw omelette.”

Curie’s eyebrows shot up. “Where on earth did you find Deathclaw meat?”

Danse laughed. “Not me – the Minutemen took down one that was lurking nearby Tenpines Bluff this morning.”

“Oh.” Curie looked relieved. “I hope we’re not cooking a mother and child.”

Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled loudly again.

“It’ll be done in a few minutes—” he nodded to the dining room table “—there’s coffee on the table though.”

Curie’s heart squeezed, more pleasantly though, than some other times, as her stomach felt that exciting swooping sensation.  Is this what love feels like?  Curie could understand why it had been humanity’s muse for centuries upon centuries.  Curie took a seat at the table, palming a coffee mug and bringing it in close, enjoying the aroma as it mingled with the scent of Danse’s cooking.

A few moments later, Curie heard the small click as Danse turned the stove off, before he came over with two plates, an omelet and a fork on each.

“Merci!”  Curie cooed, readily accepting her plate, before Danse took his place across the table from her.

He watched as she took a decadent bite, watching her eyes flutter shut as she began to sate her hunger.  The Deathclaw egg was fluffy and balanced out the saltiness of the chunks of Deathclaw meat that were sprinkled throughout.

“Is it okay?”

“It’s wonderful!  I didn’t know you could cook,”  Curie said ruefully, around a mouthful of food.

Danse began to tuck in to his own plate. “That’s because you used to do all the cooking.”

“I was trying to be nice!”

“So you’re saying now that we’re together, you’re done being nice?”  he teased.

“No—” Curie thought for a moment “—but I would not be against eating your cooking more often.”

“Noted.”  Danse grinned around a mouthful of food.

Curie couldn’t help but grin at the pleased note in his voice.

This warm, funny, kind Danse was so different than the shell of a man she’d moved in with almost a year prior.

When breakfast was finished, and the dishes were cleaned, Curie and Danse went to go put on real clothes and begin their day.  Curie supposed she should return to the Clinic, sickness took no sick days, after all.  It felt strange though, to return to the routine that had been established when Danse was gone, when she had spent the night in his arms, and the morning in his warmth.

Warm arms curled around her waist suddenly, jerking her out of her thoughts as Danse pressed another kiss against her cheek.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“I was just thinking about that,” Curie admitted. “We have work still…but, it feels weird to just…”

Danse nodded. “You’re right – we have work, we can’t let our relationship get in the way of that.”

“True.” Curie tried to hide her disappointment.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Danse, who reached up to gently muss her hair.

“It’s hard not to be close all the time, but I’m just down the street.  Plus, when I see you after work, you can tell me all about your day.”

Curie nodded. “And you, yours.”

“That’s right.”

Danse turned her around so that she was facing him now, placing a swift kiss on her cheek before letting her go.

“I hope you have a good day.”

“And you as well, my love.”  Curie beamed at him, before heading to the Clinic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Difficult questions punctuate the perfect days that follow in the wake of Curie and Danse's reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

As the days grew warmer and longer, Curie and Danse fell into a content rhythm.  Every morning started with a steaming cup of coffee over a sleepy quiet punctuated by the occasional idle comment.  Then, it was off to work.  At first, Curie and Danse were content to part for their separate duties after a quick peck on the cheek. That did not last. .

Danse expressed his discontent first, frowning over dinner one night.

“It’s weird, but ever since we…got together, I can’t help but need to be close to you,” he gushed, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

Curie smiled. “I understand, it is the same for me.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Danse continued, running a hand through his hair, “We shouldn’t let our relationship affect our work, but it’s exceptionally difficult to focus without you there.”

Curie nodded thoughtfully and took a sip from her glass of water.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind working more closely with you. Perhaps you should come work by the clinic,” Curie suggested. “I don’t use zhe entire building.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Curie struggled to stifle the thousand-watt beam that threatened to contort her mouth.

“I think it is worth a try,” she stated.

Danse relocated beneath the overhang of the clinic the next day. The rusted sign indicating his supply of weapons and parts was tacked on to the chipped blue building, beneath the fluorescent Clinic sign.

Over the course of the summer, Sanctuary’s population doubled in size.  It evolved from a quaint, residential area, to  a bustling town, complete with a general goods store (Commonwealth Trading Co.), a bar (The Crooked Tap), and of course, a clinic renowned throughout the Commonwealth as the only medical practice with a doctor who had a legitimate medical degree,( a fact that Nora seemed to appreciate more than most.)  If one found themselves in need of insurance for the next time they wind up in a tight situation that sent them limping back to Curie, Danse was waiting right outside the clinic, the owner of Nuts and Bullets: Weapons Repair + More!  People around the Commonwealth flocked to the new budding metropolis for a thorough check up.  Both for them and their weapons.

New additions migrated to Sanctuary Hills as soon as they heard Travis’ broadcast, others came more gradually.  In mid-July, the Longs welcomed the newest addition to their family; a baby girl named Marena.  Curie did the delivery herself, and while she felt she had grown used to the strange physical reactions her human body manifested in response to intense emotions, she couldn’t hold back the stray tear as she watched Marcy and Jun hunched protectively over Marena, watery smiles on their faces.  Curie had half a mind to believe that Kyle was there too.

The safety and serenity of Sanctuary drew many to raise their children there; providing even more incentive for young couples to have their children here.  Soon enough the main street was full of children running and playing.  Meanwhile the new mothers and mothers-to-be formed their own close-knit group, taking it upon themselves to form a sort of childcare system for the settlement.

Curie enjoyed these vibrant new additions leaping and bounding down the street, straying in and out, and asking her all sorts of endearing questions.  A few of the kids had taken to helping her around the clinic; helping her organize supplies, clean, and sometimes even holding another’s hand as Curie tended to a scraped knee and the like.  She was pleasantly surprised to find Danse getting on well with the children too.  While he wasn’t one to coddle, he treated kids with an earnest respect most adults forwent when speaking to the younger members of the community.  When they asked questions, he was always content to answer, and when they didn’t understand, he was adept at breaking it down so they could.  While adults favored the couple for the quality of their services, the children enjoyed the sense of importance they maintained in helping out around the clinic and shop, taking pride in the skills they picked up along the way.

One boy in particular, Armande, had an affinity for both first-aid, and tinkering; the son of a couple handling  one of the main caravans running through the Commonwealth.  With his parents frequently away on business, he became increasingly close with Curie and Danse, even having dinner with them most nights.  Curie delighted in Armande’s inquisitiveness. Although Danse would never admit it, she knew he had developed a soft spot for the boy as well, effectively taking him under his wing.

One late afternoon, Curie was in the process of closing the clinic for the day.  She had tasked Armande with sweeping, as she busied herself with medical records.  Danse stepped in, having finished closing shop.

“Curie?” Armande asked.

“Yes?” She smiled.

“When are you and Danse getting married?”

His voice was as casual as it was when he asked for them to pass the carrots at dinner.  Meanwhile, a vicious blush washed over Curie, her lips parting slightly in shock as she experienced something akin to short circuiting.  She hadn’t felt such a sensation before.  Danse, who had overhead, wasn’t much better off.  His bright, crimson hue mirrored Curie’s, his eyebrows drawn up as he deliberated on his answer, while watching for Curie’s like a hawk.

“We – ah – we haven’t spoken of such things yet,” Curie finally answered.

“Why not?” Armande kept sweeping, never missing a beat.

“Well, uh, he hasn’t asked me.”

It sounded more like a question itself.

“So you’re waiting for him to ask?”

Curie’s blush darkened, and her mouth pressed into a thin line as she struggled to evade Danse’s burning gaze.

“I didn’t say that! I just meant that traditionally, the question comes up when someone asks.  No one’s asked, so we haven’t talked about it yet.”

“So why don’t you ask him?”

Curie risked a glance towards the former Paladin, only to see the barest hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“That’s a good question.” Danse turned to Armande.

Curie’s mouth opened to say something, before faltering shut.  Armande looked at Danse.

“Why haven’t you asked?”

Danse’s smile disappeared as he grappled for his own response.

“Well that’s…”

“It’s…” Curie hesitated, “too soon?”

Her gaze met Danse’s.

“Yes, that’s right, it’s too soon.”

Armande’s face crumpled in confusion. “How come?”

“Well, think of your mom and dad,” Curie offered.

“I am, mom and dad live together – like you, work together – like you, and they’re married.”

Curie shot a pleading look at Danse, waiting for him to swoop in with his own answer, but he was too busy, lost in his thoughts to come to her rescue.  Armande shrugged as he gave a few last sweeps before placing the broom back in its designated corner.

“I’m hungry,” he said idly, and just like that, the conversation was over.

“Well c’mon—” Curie waved him over from the door  “—let’s go have dinner.”

The three of them headed back to the house Curie and Danse shared, Danse still lingering on the previous conversation as Armande and Curie chatted avidly on about who would win in a fight, a deathclaw, or a thousand mole rats.


	15. final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

It was at dinner that night, that Danse chewed his meal with the autonomy of a mill.  While outside, the table was warm and cheerful with Armande and Curie chatting avidly, inside his mind, a whirlwind of thoughts was spinning like a vision of white skirts swirling at his lover’s legs.  Thoughts of the dearly beloved, and dearly in love had seized his attention, a fussing child; most stubbornly and with an obligation to be tended to in their innocence. 

Danse had thought that if he gave such thoughts one night – just one  in which he humored inquiries of a wedding ring (he could make one easily enough) and who would wed them (he’d heard there was a multidenominational pastor in Diamond City), that perhaps he’d sate his curiosities on the matter.  However, the next morning the thoughts were still there, tucked around him, and dozing softly, like the woman they concerned.  They remained there through the next one after that and the next one after that.

In every idle moment befalling his hands in the shop, drafts of vows that would never see the light of day trembled restlessly between them.  In the glowing embers of the dying Commonwealth sunset, they felt scorched and real in his palms. 

In every day that started untangling himself from Curie’s sleepy grasp, and ended with him tangling himself rapturously within it again, he felt the circular motion of their routine sync itself up to the vibrations of his racing heart.  He felt the whispers of forever like the marrow in his bones, and it stayed hidden inside him, in much the same way. 

In every corridor he found an aisle, in Curie’s boring, lab coat, a blushing bride, and in his home, a wife.

Such notions sunk into him like saltwater in sand, making him heavy with it, and it wasn’t until Curie took his thoughtful face, looming a million miles away, in her soft, soothing hold, that he felt his resolve crumble to the miniscule, wind-tossed particles again.

“ _Mon cher_ ,” Curie cooed, in a voice like molasses, “where are you tonight?  You are a thousand miles away.”

Danse’s eyes shut, and worry teased at Curie’s nerves for the moments they did while unbeknownst to her, he drank in her touch.  As he let soothing warmth seep into his cheekbones, he mulled over how he should answer. 

There were a thousand places he visited as he sat in Curie’s arms, all of them with her.  Sometimes it was the home they were in now, where the pattering of smaller footsteps trailed clumsily after them, other times it was in a completely new home, with hubflowers at the windowsill, and brahmin grazing outside. 

While these pretty pictures canvased in his mind, he also remained nestled in Curie’s palms, another place he could add to his list of happy ones.

When his eyes opened again, the words were at the tip of his tongue; _I’m here with you, always._   The next thing he knew though, Curie was staring wide-eyed and jaw dropped, her face nearly cracked open by the force of her shock.  Words had been at the tip of his tongue, but had they been the right ones?

They felt too short.  His cheeks burned.

_“Marry me.”_

Danse felt ashamed.  He wanted to yank those words back again.  Hard, like the leash on a dog that insisted on walking its owner instead of the other way around.

And then, something inside him slackened, or maybe it was the leash of that same maddening dog, but then he found himself completely drained of the desire to do anything to the words except own them, and hear Curie’s response.  He hadn’t said what he’d wanted to – at least not in so many words, but…hadn’t he told her the same thing, after all?

His intent was unchanged beneath its flimsy mask, wasn’t it? 

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Curie said, her voice thin.

“I do.”

A dingy little chapel choked out by the ivy climbing through its cracked stone, came to mind.

He peered into her eyes; limpid like spring water.  Unease stirred in him, for despite the characteristic gentleness that lingered, he found no affirmation in her face.  Her hands fell away from his face like leaves, the action carrying the cold promise of a winter.  Disappointed as he was, it came as no surprise when the words that came next were not ‘yes’.

“I…can’t.”

Her voice sounded strange, still very much hers, but as if cut and pasted from another conversation she’d had with someone else.  Perhaps one with the Danse who’d apprehensively lived with her almost a year before.

His heart juddered in his chest.

“Can you tell me why?” he asked, as if it might take some of the sting out, milk on sunburns.

Curie’s mouth fell open, as if she had a proffered explanation sitting in her mouth, only for it to vanish into thin air as she needed it.  It snapped shut.

When she fixed her eyes on him next, Danse felt his chest twinge as he watched the softness leach from her expression.

“Does it matter in the end?”

“No,” he frowned, “I suppose not.”

Silence fell upon the household in a manner long forgotten.  Lifetimes ago, they had cohabited in similar circumstances.  Danse curled up on the sofa that night, long legs hanging off the edge as he ached raggedly.  He wasn’t so sure he could do it again.

  * \- -



The next few days, Danse and Curie tiptoed around each other so that even their shadows in passing scarcely touched.  During the few hours bookending the working day, their silhouettes could be seen in their tangential dance, and it was always bathed in a longing quiet. 

Danse had taken to sleeping on the sofa every night, only to arise at the birth of each dawn with a crick in his neck and a weight to his step as he trudged to the workshop.  Better to be surrounded in the cold stare of metal, than that of his lover’s avoidance at home.  Twice a day, he’d huddled at the small side table in the shop, over a tin of cram, or can of beans, lest he return home to one set place and the woman who intended to eat there. 

Curie on the other hand, had settled into a spell of sleeplessness, as she engaged in a constant struggle with the empty side of her bed, as it fought her with each fretful toss and turn.  She’d look upon her meals with pitted eyes, tasting sawdust with every bite. 

The children didn’t come to dinner anymore, but she hoped whatever they were eating tasted better than what she had. 

They kept to this abysmal routine, prisoners to their own stubbornness, until one day, who else to break it but Preston Garvey?

It was with a flurry of excitement from some of the settlers that Danse was prompted to poke his head out of his workshop, squinting as sweat beaded at his brow. 

The Minutemen’s most faithful lieutenant strode in with two others Danse did not recognize.  Still though, he couldn’t stop the upwards twitch of his mouth as he wiped the oil from his hands onto the nearest rag, (more so spreading it around, than actually cleaning anything) and slinging it over his shoulder. 

Preston noticed Danse as he approached, and a friendly smile spread at his own face as well.

“Danse, you look well.”

At this, a subdued sense of pride glowed in the former Paladin’s chest, and while he couldn’t quite bring himself to voice his total agreement, he met Preston’s warmth as if to prove his point.

“As do you Garvey, it’s good to see you again.”

“Especially without the threat of the Commonwealth’s boogieman hanging over our heads?”

“Exactly.”

The small squad of Minutemen walked down Sanctuary’s main road, towards the yellow house center of the settlement.  Danse fell into step beside Preston, and as they passed the clinic, he used the Minuteman as an anchor for his gaze, so as not to let it stray to the curious face peering out through the window.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you again, but what brings you back to Sanctuary?” Danse raised a thick eyebrow.

“Nothing in particular.  We were called to help with a ragstag problem at Abernathy’s,” Preston wrinkled his nose, and Danse couldn’t help but chuckle.

If anything, the only thing the men had always seen eye to eye on was how silly it was for the settlers to get up in arms about ragstag.  They weren’t gentle per say, but surely not even close to being the most fearsome beasts in the Commonwealth, especially if left well enough alone.

“And as you know, we’re an awfully long way from the Castle to be running low on daylight,” Preston continued, “so we thought we’d stop at Sanctuary for the night while we’re in the area and see if there are any familiar faces.  Is it just you left?”

Danse watched Preston do a quick three-sixty.  While the faces that milled about were friendly and abundant, there wasn’t one Preston would recognize, in sight.

“The Long’s are still around here somewhere, along with the newest member of their family.”

Preston’s face lit up at this.  So happiness had found them in the end, after all. 

“Sturges packed up once Sanctuary was fortified, but went to the nearby Red Rocket, so he still visits often.”

Preston laughed, “I don’t blame him – when we’d first found Sanctuary, there were so many repairs for him to make, he might as well have been rebuilding civilization from scratch.”

“Curie’s still here too,” Danse said, trying to keep his tone consistently light as he inspected a piece of lint on his trousers.

“Lucky for you guys to have an honest to God, pre-war doctor around.”

Danse made a noise of agreement, for he didn’t trust himself with anything more.

“And how about you?  What have you been up to since…?”  Preston’s voice trailed off.

Danse seemed whole and fine now, but there was no question between the both of them about the Brotherhood still being a sore spot.

“I do weapon repairs and modifications,” Danse replied gingerly, jerking his chin to his workshop down the street.

Preston visibly relaxed.

“That’s great,” he said earnestly, “you always were good with your hands.”

The two men shared lingering smiles – genuinely relieved that their reunion hadn’t resulted in the catastrophic collision either had fretted about after their last meeting.  A child ran past them and into the yellow house they had stopped in front of, slapping the screen door behind him.

Preston’s eyes widened then, and he startled slightly, as if it had been a mirelurk skittering past, instead of the Parker-Johnson’s boy.

“What is it?”

Preston laughed, an embarrassed sound as a hand reached up to absentmindedly smooth over the back of his neck.

“Someone lives here now,” he said.

“Yes, the settlement’s grown since you’ve last been here.  Now all the houses are occupied, and we’re currently working on building more by the creek,” Danse explained, studying Preston’s expression with mild puzzlement.

Preston had a sheepish look about him, and it was then that Danse understood.

“I should…have room at my place if you need somewhere to stay,” he offered without thinking.

“I really appreciate that.  Thank you, Danse.”

Danse mentally kicked himself; he and his housemate technically hadn’t shared a house in a few weeks, and while he was sure they could scrounge up a place on their sofa, or rustle up a sleeping bag, he wasn’t sure if inviting a guest following a botched proposal was the best way to repair the distance that had formed between he and Curie.

A cold, dry wind blew through him, and his ribs rattled, snagging around his breath and dragging it back.

Even without this little faux pas on his part, he had difficulty imagining a situation in which things were repaired between them.  How could they return to how they once were, now that they both knew the other one was in a drastically different place?  Could she return to him, knowing how he wished to covet her?  Could Danse return to her, knowing that her love couldn’t measure up to his own?

His thoughts busied themselves with this catch-22, much more content to grapple with the impossible questions, than confront the real answers to such questions.

The walk back home was quiet and relatively peaceful, despite how Danse’s stomach threatened to tear from his gut.  Leaves scraped at the cracked pavement like they were trying to hold themselves down before the wind dragged them away before the two mens’ footfalls.  As they drew closer, the nondescript shapes through the window sharpened into focus, and Danse could see Curie milling about in the kitchen.

He swallowed and felt the draft chill the clammy sweat that clung to the back of his neck.

Danse gestured for Preston to go first as they approached the house, and immediately felt a coward for it.  Preston took up the lead easily, before stuttering to a halt in the doorway.

“Curie?”

“ _Monsieur Garvey_!” she gushed in surprise, rushing forward to kiss either cheek.

“It’s good to see you,” he beamed, perking up in Curie’s presence.

Danse could hardly blame him.  He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching Preston again so that he wouldn’t need to watch Curie.

“You look so well!” she leaned back on her heels and gave the Minuteman a once-over.

“As do you,” he turned to Danse, “you two live together?”

He hesitated, before reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck, feeling the slick of sweat beneath the slide of nail.  She was definitely looking at him now.  Danse scratched thoughtfully, trying extra hard not to notice.

“We, uh, do.”

If Preston noticed Danse balk at the question, he didn’t show it.  He turned back to Curie.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced; Danse offered to let me stay for the night, if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all! Think nothing of it!”

She bounced forward to hug Preston, and Danse caught the edge in her voice like it was a blade in hand.  Everyone was quiet for a couple of moments, not unpleasant save for the massive elephant in the room crushing Danse as if it were sitting on his chest.

“Dinner will be ready soon, so neither of you go far,” Curie said turning back to the stove where a pot was already simmering. 

Danse met her gaze as it lingered on him before he went to their fridge and snagged a couple of beers.  Handing one to Preston, he guided the man into their living room, being sure to leave a bottle on the counter for her.

“So, you and Curie live together?” Preston asked, as Danse sat down.

The larger man cracked open the beer bottles using the edge of the coffee table, before taking a cleansing swig.

“We do.”

“Interesting,” Preston said amusedly, but didn’t push further.  “You two seem happy together.”

Danse almost choked, and Preston made a sound of alarm before thumping him firmly on the back.  Coughing and sputtering slightly, Danse dragged a wrist across his chin to rid it of its foamy dribble.

“We-” Danse coughed again, and Preston gave him another firm smack, “-are,” he said unconvincing to both of them.

Preston gave Danse a few moments to recover before launching into a summary of what he’d been up to for the past year or so.  Nora was still the general of the Minutemen, and spent half of her time at the Castle, and the other half in Goodneighbor with _her_ other half.  Things were mostly quiet without the Institute mounting tensions in the Commonwealth between factions.  The Brotherhood of Steel had returned to the Capital Wasteland, and that’s all Preston said of them, noticing how the corners of Danse’s mouth tightened at the mention of his former affiliation.  These days, the Minutemen had little use for mounting sieges; really, they just dispatched troops to whatever settlement needed a bit of help, the most common problems being repairs, ‘mutie infestations, and the occasional raider trouble.  Aside from the day to day tasks, Preston busied himself by assembling a task force to track the slight influx of raider movement from out west, where NukaWorld was.  He’d also taken up gardening, which he’d explained in even more avid detail by the time Curie had come to gather them for dinner.

“Well, unfortunately we didn’t grow the vegetables and herbs ourselves,” she teased, “but I assure you, someone did.”

Preston laughed good naturedly, obeying her hand as it waved them into the quaint dining area she’d set.  Danse’s chest felt a pang – usually he set the table when she’d cooked.  At least, that’s how it had been before.  He couldn’t remember the last time he did such a thing, and apparently, his hands had no recollection of such a menial task at all.

They took their places at the table, Danse across from Curie, and Preston at the head of the table.  Danse’s eyes were fixed on the mixture of fragrantly spiced vegetables and meat as they tumbled onto his plate.  Preston noted how he seemed to cower from Curie, who maintained a smile that had looked as if it freeze-dried onto her face.

A gentle quiet settled in, punctuated by the enthusiastic clinking of metal against ceramic as they started to tuck into their meal.

“Dinner’s great Curie,” Preston said between bites, “I had no idea you were such a good cook.”

“ _Oui_ , it’s become a sort of hobby of mine,” she replied, flourishing under his praise.

It was then that Danse realized she hadn’t cooked for anyone besides the two of them, and some of the neighborhood children before. 

Preston cleared his throat.

“Danse is a lucky man,” he said casually.

Both of their heads snapped up to look at the Minuteman.

“So, how long have you been married?”

Curie’s brow furrowed, her chewing slowed, whereas Danse let out a strangled noise, and took a hurried swig of his drink again.

“We’re not–“

“We never-“

Their protests mingled in twin alarm.

“Oh, sorry – I didn’t mean to assume,” Preston said hurriedly, “just, seeing you two together, it seemed like you were.”

Quiet overtook the table again, this time, the clinking of their utensils, less jovial.

“Well, we’re not,” Danse frowned, and the next words spilled from his mouth like vomit, “but it’s not for a lack of trying.”

Curie’s face drew together into a terse look, and the clinking quieted some as she set her utensils down and crossed her arms.

“It’s not my fault I didn’t want to marry you.  We were happy as things were, what’s wrong with keeping them that way?”

“Because I want to move forward.  I don’t want to stagnate with you – things are finally…” Danse hesitated, the bite in his words trading its vitriol for caution, “ _okay_.  We should be building a future before things…” become not okay again?  Curie seemed to get his meaning well enough, then Preston spoke up.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two are already living together.  Curie, is marriage really such a big, unthinkable step to take from here?”

Her skin flushed hotly, her mouth pressing into a firm line.

“Not when you put it that way, perhaps, but I remember marriage from…from before,” her dark eyebrows drew together, “it’s not just something you do because you ‘might as well’.  It’s a promise, a _lifelong_ promise.”

“And you don’t think I can honor a promise like that?” Danse rebuked, obviously hurt.

Curie balked and he took this opportunity to round on her.

“I’ve made vows before, and it wasn’t me who broke them,” his voice was cold and sharp, ice splinters as they stabbed into Curie, and trickled frigid water into her bloodstream.

“Yes, Danse, I know,” she softened suddenly, sounding more fatigued now than combative, “and when they abandoned you for what you were, it consumed you.  Do you really think you’re ready to take an oath like that again?”

“That’s for _me_ to decide not you.”

“It takes two people to be married, so I’d say it’s up to both of you,” Preston pointed out.

Danse leaned back in his own seat now, thick arms crossed.  It was a heavily guarded gesture, like the walls of a fortress he hid behind.

“I’d also say…” Preston paused, searching for the right words, “that perhaps you were already taking and honoring those vows without officially declaring them.”

Both eyes snapped to him.

“Traditionally, the vows read ‘to have and to hold each other, for better or for worse, and to love and cherish one another,’” Preston gave a small smile, “weren’t you already doing those things?”

“More or less.”

“I suppose.”

Again, that silence, pressed this time like flowers in books.  Danse was the first one to speak again.

“I came back from my worse because of her –“ Danse’s eyes flicked from the Minuteman to Curie, “ _you_.” 

This admission to the vows Preston had listed was as vulnerable as he could allow himself to be at the present.  The only thing worse than a rejected proposal would’ve been to talk about how he truly had – and still did – cherish her, only for her to dismiss it again.  Or worse yet, to mention all the ‘having and holding’ they did.

Curie smiled at him then, for the first time in days and the clouds parted to let in a shaft of brilliant, golden sunlight.  Danse felt himself warm.

“And I think together, we found our best,” she offered.

 _Or, the best still has yet to come,_ Danse thought, though he knew better than to turn his nose up at the olive branch she was extending.  He smiled tentatively back and just like that the heaviness evaporated from the air like a fog dissolving on a rapidly warming afternoon.  Danse felt himself relax, and he straightened up in his seat allowing his arms to find their way back atop the table with ease.

From across, Curie’s own inched towards his, until her own dainty fingertips were but a hairsbreadth away from his.  They locked eyes, and Preston cleared his throat, suddenly feeling quite forgotten.

“So, _Monsieur Garvey_ ,” Curie said again casually, dimpling as she smiled at their guest, “tell us, how did the Abernathy’s fare with your help?”

Danse turned as Preston began recounting the details of his squad’s mission that day, but he found it incredibly hard to focus on anything other than the soft warmth of a familiar hand in his.

  * \- -



It was a small gathering of people – ‘inner-circle only’ Nora had teased, but looking back, Curie would see that the remark, joke as it may have been intended, wasn’t completely inaccurate.  The same faces seated in the modest pews, fixed up for just the occasion, and dressed in sweeps of white linen, had been the dirt-smudged faces she’d looked upon at the Castle, the day the Institute had been destroyed. 

Dogmeat was resting with his head on his paws, a bowtie fixed around his neck for just the occasion, and a pillow strapped to his back – where the rings would be placed.  Curie grinned at this.  Codsworth bustled around, straightening the already wrinkleless cloths draped over the tables, and reminding everyone of the merits of punctuality, despite the fact that nearly all those on the guestlist were here already.  

Nora was bundling hubflowers she had picked earlier that morning, matching the blooms embellishing the rows of pews.  She handed the bouquet to Curie, the petals matching the fabric of the _Agatha_ dress she wore in the romantic lantern light.

“They’re lovely,” Curie murmured, fingers caressing at the petals as if she were pantomiming school girls at play.

“They match the bride then,” Nora smiled warmly.

Just then a bright flash crackled in the air, accompanied by the hiss-buzz of lifewarm metal.  Curie and Nora flinched at the sudden intrusion, the latter raising her hand up as a makeshift visor.

“Aren’t you ladies a sight for sore eyes,” a panhandle voice as sweet as spilled honey drawled.

Blinking away the lingering fuzzy spots in their vision, both women grinned broadly at the sight of Sturges from behind a pre-war camera – one he’d somehow managed to doctor up into creating the blinding flash from before.

“Is that…?”

“It sure is,” Sturges held the camera up so that they could more properly behold it, “’Got it working again myself.”

Nora let out a low whistle.

“Sure don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

“They sure don’t,” Sturges agreed, bringing the camera back towards his chest so he could inspect it.  His fingers ran reverently over it, like he was holding a precious treasure.  Curie supposed given the current state of the world, it might as well have been.  “That’s why folks like me come around and fix ‘em up.  I figured if there was ever an occasion that was picture-worthy, it would be our very own Commonwealth wedding.”

Sturges turned to look fully at Curie, and his face softened as if he were just now realizing the extent of her loveliness.  The gown was but a simple one, left at the back of Fallon’s to collect dust for almost a decade before she’d gone in to claim it.  From there, it had been a bit of a fixer upper, and now, no one would be the wiser.

Backless, and done up almost completely in rose lace, Curie resembled more of a Classical statue, or perhaps even an ancient goddess descended onto earth for a day visit, than a woman of this world. 

“You look positively radiant.”

Curie’s cheeks flushed as she beamed, and she lifted herself into her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss at the handyman’s cheek.

“Thank you, _Monsieur Sturges_ ,”

At the sound of the quartet starting up, everyone hurried to their seats, behaving more obediently for the swell of music than Codsworth’s persistent nagging.  The four musicians scrounged up from Sanctuary were situated in the backdrop of the podium at the front of the modest chapel and were the only ones besides the minister from Diamond City who was present without being particularly close to the bride or groom. 

Nora and Curie hurried to the doors of the chapel, propped open to let a pleasant, summer’s evening breeze in.  The chapel drew in sweet breath fragrant with the scent of the flowers that spanned a purple ocean in the surrounded area.  Curie pulled in her own steadying breath in parallel, as Nora started down the aisle first, Preston at her side.

Once they were positioned at either side of the alter, the music changed tones, and with a new, especially lavish swell - a sound that would make a hundred young girls swoon as _the_ soundtrack to falling in love – Curie took the arm of the dapper ghoul beside her and started down the aisle.

Heads from both sides turned to face her, and Curie felt her face grow hot under their scrutiny.  She kept her eyes focused at the front, where Nora and Preston stood bookending her fiancé.  He’d made himself scarce the entire day, not wanting to tempt whatever forces inspired the old wives’ tale about a bride and groom not seeing each other the day they are to be wed.

Now, he took her breath away, elegance itself in his simple, well-fitting tuxedo.

Both he and Preston, (and Hancock, as she would later notice), had a hubflower or two tucked into their jacket pockets.

Curie felt her breath catch in her throat as she and Hancock continued down the aisle and she stiffened.  A rasped touch soothed against her knuckles, tucked against Hancock’s coat.

“You’re doin’ great, sweetheart,” he whispered under his breath.

Curie felt her smile wobble and a tightness stretch her throat raw.  Unable to speak for more than one reason, she squeezed his arm back.  Surprising as the arrangement had been, there was no doubt in her mind now – the irreverent ghoul had been the correct one to walk her up the front steps to her awaiting marriage.

They climbed the steps at a tempo that was careful to match up with her partner’s.  Then, with a touch as floated as butterfly wings, she flew for a moment as Hancock’s grasp disappeared from her, before her opposite hand landed firmly in Danse’s waiting one.  A short breath escaped from her, before she set her bright eyes on Danse’s, and let his smile coax her across from him.  Their other hands joined, reverse steepling as Pastor Clements began his – _their_ – introduction to marriage.

“And now, the bride and groom will exchange their vows,” Pastor Clements’ eyes gleamed with a reverence the chapel had not seen in many moons, “while they are promises to each other, let them serve as a reminder to all of us, in our own lives, and to our own partners, about what it means to be accountable to someone else.”

Danse and Curie locked eyes, regarding each other as the most well met strangers on the planet in that moment.  This was the final moment of knowing each other without being married.  The first moment of knowing each other as husband and wife – and it was a moment they’d stretch into eternity as they promised themselves to each other every single day in the keeping of these sacred oaths.

“Please, repeat after me,” Pastor Clements began.

“I take thee Danse,”

Curie echoed the first line.

“to be my wedded husband,”

She echoed again, shepherded by the guiding crook of his words.

And they alternated in this fashion through the traditional wedding vows.

_“ to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to our own decided ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”_

What Curie had not gotten from Pastor Clements’ own intonation was the way her voice wavered with feeling, as if it could scarcely bear the weight of the words she offered Danse.

When it was his turn, Pastor Clements turned to him, opening his mouth to begin again like he had with Curie.  Intrigued tittering rippled throughout the homely crowd gathered at the pews when Danse lifted his hand up to silence Clements.

“I, erhm, wrote my own vows.”

Curie’s eyes widened, and a forceful hush pressed the dulled chatter into an expectant quiet, as everyone waited for Danse to speak.  He cleared his throat, and then began.

“When we, uh, found each other, I was going through a…difficult change in my life,” Danse’s voice was memorialized in the golden evening sun, “before that, I’d been promised to an organization I had thought of as the lifeblood of humanity, and as such, myself.  I had thought of the members of the organization as my brothers and sisters – my family, and so when I couldn’t be a part of that family any longer, I felt…abandoned.  Both by my family, and the identity I’d anchored to myself for my entire life.

It was you who came to my aid, already embodying the vows we promise to each other today – before you had to, before you had any reason to.  So now in turn, I want to promise you this,” his eyebrows formed prominent lines over his eyes, declarations shining in the depths of his forceful stare, “I swear to be your partner; your ally in every battle, your safety in every storm.  I’ll love you through every pitfall fate places at our feet and  weather every atom bomb life drops on us.

I will try to be understanding; this I owe, seeing as you’ve made me happier than I could ever fathom.  You are the strength I didn’t know I needed, and the second chance I hardly deserved.  With it, I will serve you well.  All this I promise you, and so much more.”

Pastor Clements smiled broadly, his eyes shining.

“And now for the rings…”

A faint pattering sounded across the old wooden floors of the chapel as Dogmeat’s nails scrabbled at it, the faint grooves they left in it invisible against the backdrop of a thousand.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth merrily, his tail thwapping to and fro, occasionally hitting the side of a pew and jostling the delicate hanging fabric with a sharp slapping sound.  The pillow strapped to his back now held two plain silver bands nestled atop it.

When he approached, Danse grabbed the rings as Dogmeat flopped down, saving the rings before they could be thrown off.  A sleepy groan came from Dogmeat’s throat as he yawned, and Curie giggled as she accepted one of the rings, wiping a tear from her eye before better examining it.

Through the polished silver, lantern light bubbled and reflected back along with Danse’s own face, the curve of the metal molding it into a goofier, disproportionate version of her handsome lover.

When Curie looked up again, she found that Clements and Danse were watching her – her cue had been withstanding for a while now.  She flushed before taking one of Danse’s hands in her own and placing the band of silver over his fourth finger.

“With this ring, I wed thee,” she murmured, cheeks still burning.

Danse smiled softly and took her hand in a mirrored gesture. 

“With this ring, I wed thee,” he said back as she felt the ring – warm from his grasp – slide down her own lithe finger.

Curie felt her heart thud so deeply in her chest, she felt the impact vibrate through every cell.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor announced, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Curie blinked dazedly, as if she were snapshotting each second Danse drew closer between each shuttered brush of her eyelashes.  She felt herself warm again, in a fresh wave of basking embarrassment, the kind that said, ‘ _I’m glad to be kissing you, but it was your idea_ ’.

Danse brought one strong hand up to cup her jaw, as the other arm circled around her waist, gathering her to his chest as he pressed his lips to hers.  Her heart tripped and stuttered in her chest; a side effect of her tentative eagerness at the newness of physical intimacies.  Another one was her inability to withstand the strength of sudden desire as it barreled into her with the force of an atom bomb.  Forgetting herself for a moment, she threw her arms around Danse’s neck, throwing herself further into his already eager grasp, and turning the kiss heated so that it singed the scandalized gazes of their loved ones gathered before them.  Amused murmurs buzzed around them, and it was Danse who gently pried her from him, his face restrained as usual so that only his eyes let on the wanting promise he vowed to her, for their shared bed that night.

A smattering of hearty applause broke out, and that was that; they were officially married.  Relief Curie didn’t know she was waiting for sapped the tension from her body – she didn’t feel any different.  Just fluttered from the afterglow of their shared kiss, warm from Danse’s hand in her own, and especially lovely in her gown.

A similar levity had overtaken everyone in the chapel it seemed, for within the hour, everyone was mingling with each other as they had in the days leading up to the Institute’s end, regardless of affiliation or agenda.  The alcohol flowed readily, and consequently, the good companionship did as well.  Curie was nursing a glass of Champaign Hancock had found it upon himself to bring, perched atop Danse’s lap, as her circle of friends swapped stories and caught up in a reception that was as cozy and intimate as the ceremony itself.

The quartet had since dropped its structured rounds and harmonies in favor for a single rogue fiddler, a drunken heat suffusing him as he brought the horsehair across the strings in a wily manner.  Preston was twirling a woman who had played beside the lone fiddler now, her skirts flaying outwards in a spread that reminded Curie of a flower bud opening up.  Both practically glowed through their movements, moving together fast in a graceful formation, like they weren’t two people dancing together at all, rather, one being caught in an intricate mechanism.

Encircled by her chatty, albeit intoxicated, friends, Curie smiled giddily as she listened to MacCready and Hancock discuss something called _Molerat Mambo –_ something that sounded an awful lot like dogfighting, if molerats replaced dogs - with exaggerated expertise.

A tempered warmth budded in Curie as well – both from her drink as it trickled down her throat, molten courage, to the feeling of her husband beneath and behind her, his heady breath at her ear.  Suddenly the dense air took shape into ghost words; _let’s get out of here_.

Soundless as they rose to their feet, the newlyweds broke the circle, and broached out of the halo of lantern light, to where the dry, scraggly grass outside the chapel rubbed together in reedy sighs.  Their arms hung relaxed at their sides, bumping into one another once, and then twice, before they settled into a loose fingerlock, palms meeting to kiss occasionally at the whim of their walking. 

In the dark, the gentle slope of the hill proved slightly more treacherous to Curie in her heels.  Without even needing to think about it, Danse could register the steep drop-offs of the crumbled ground beneath them, and he maneuvered them with expert grace before tensing his arm to provide a firm assistance to his wife.

Curie accepted his help readily, giving his hand an extra squeeze for good measure, and letting it linger for a while after the terrain calmed underfoot.  This is the hand she’d hold for the rest of her life; and what a warm and strong hand it was.  Their hold swung cozily between them.

“I saw you and Preston talking earlier,” Curie remarked, her eyes searching blindly for more divots in the night darkened ground.

A short laugh escaped Danse, more of a sharp exhale, than a full laugh.

“We agreed that I’m to be the official weapons provider for the Minutemen,” the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, “I’ll still be operating in Sanctuary for the public, but, now I have certain…priorities again.  Somewhere to funnel my ideas, and such.”

Curie beamed, one of many flickering lights in the expanse of the universe’s fabric spread above them.  He had brothers and sisters again, more or less.  A purpose, that stood in solidarity with his very soul, as it did the men and women he served, all while keeping him safe (and industriously so) at her side. 

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered into the dark, giving his hand another tight squeeze when she felt words just couldn’t do the sentiment justice.

Letting out a contented sigh, Danse tugged Curie closer to him, and took her in his arms so that her forehead lined up with his chin.  Her eyes searched upwards, waiting to see what he would do next.  Tucking her beneath his chin, his arms tightened around her.  Curie felt herself melt against his firm chest, and she was contented to bury her face into the soothing warmth of her husband – a warmth she’d be able to turn to now.

They stood, curled up against each other for a little while.  Curie listened to the steady thrum of his heart and held it in her mind so that she might be able to recall it on command.  This rhythm, sacred to her, and proof of the very real, very _feeling_ heart its owner denied the existence of for the better part of a year.

“I love you,” she mouthed, against the muted beat.

And so the scraggly grass, and ocean of hubflowers, the cream cheese moon and gnarled limbs of the naked Commonwealth trees saw this too, and attested to its truth; the truth between two sacred hearts.


End file.
